Build You a World
by Rachel Greenwood
Summary: Ten years after Titanic, Cal is trying to navigate the rapidly changing world. Rose is trying to deal with her feelings and the changes in their relationship. Jack just wants her back, but he doesn't know that's possible. Yet.
1. Chapter 1

_Santa Monica 1922_

Cal's shoes made a satisfying _clomp_ against the freshly swept sidewalk. He walked quickly, hands in his pocket, hat pushed back to reveal the smile playing about his lips. The smells of popcorn, sugar, and salt water mingled in the air. He breathed deeply and let his eyes roam across the crowd that was already forming on the pier. According to his watch it was only three in the afternoon, and yet couples were already strolling hand-in-hand, oblivious to everything but the other's eyes. Children ran about in search of a few more pennies for another game. It wasn't enough to simply say most of the people here belonged to a different social group. The pier was its own world, and it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. But that was an understatement; it wasn't just the pier that was its own world. There were dozens of worlds in Santa Monica alone, never mind in the rest of Los Angeles. It was fascinating, in a way, to wonder what it would have been like to be born here, or, if he was feeling particularly adventurous, to just have been born to a typical middle-class family. What would growing up as a member of the bourgeoise have changed about him? If nothing else, it would have given him a definite set of goals to strive for.

Cal's smile wavered. He turned his gaze away from the crowd. No, instead, he was born at the very top of American society. The only thing higher than his family, with its fortune dating only as far back as 1872 although his grandfather had steadfastly claimed otherwise until everyone finally began to believe him, was those few remaining scraps of nobility and what passed for royalty these days. Russia didn't even have a royal family anymore. The few survivors of the Revolution were scattered, clinging to their former dignity, while the Imperial family had been shot in a basement, though of course, there were those who told other stories. The world was changing right under his feet, and only a blind man wouldn't be able to see what was coming. Soon the American aristocracy he loved so dearly wouldn't even exist. It would be replaced by hordes of tasteless nouveau riche. So perhaps, he mused, turning the last corner, it was best he had gotten out when he had. Better to disappear quietly to parts unknown then to suffer the humiliation of being usurped—though, he had to admit, he hadn't left with that end in mind.

His knocked was answered by a brisk, "It's unlocked." He paused before stepping inside and smoothed his hair. It was still jet black, only now it fell a little more freely beneath his hat. He straightened his tie and ran a thumb over the buttons on his vest. He knew they were all buttoned perfectly, but it was reassuring to check just the same.

"I thought you'd never get here," Rose said over her shoulder. She carried a stack of unframed paintings in her arms. "Fine greeting," he said, ignoring the slight roll of her eyes. "Do you want help with those?"

"Oh no, I'm fine. I'm just taking them into the bedroom. You can help me carry the bookcase out here, though," she called.

"What are you going to do with them in there?"

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Hang them up, of course."

"Well, yes, I assumed that, but don't you think you have enough paintings in here?" He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his middle. "If you aren't careful you won't be able to find your way out." She ignored him. "Doesn't it make it difficult to sleep in here?" he continued. "That, for instance," he said, nodding at a Picasso piece "It can't possibly induce pleasant dreams."

"My dreams are perfect. You never did understand Picasso," Rose said absently, leaning a painting against the wall opposite the bed. "But then again," she added, stepping back to view the result, "You never did have much taste in art."

"I have taste. This just isn't what I would call 'art.'"

"And what would you call art? Renaissance paintings?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I'd certainly prefer a few Da Vinci's to the scribblings of Picasso. The man paints like a drunk child having a nightmare."

Rose laughed. "You really were born at the wrong time, weren't you? First it's penniless artists destroying the craft and all these naughty books getting published about noblewomen having affairs with Yorkshire peasants, then it's the War killing all the empires, then it's the Nineteenth Amendment—" She studied his face. "Your world has just been crumbling since the day you were born, hasn't it?"

Cal couldn't help but wonder if hearing the words "penniless artist" spoken aloud had the same effect on her as it did on him. He pulled his gaze away from hers. It couldn't possibly; something would give her away if it did, he told himself. "I wouldn't go that far," he said lightly. "Things were going very well in the 90s."

"You know, they say the 20s will be like that," she said. "An endless round of parties and quests for more clothes."

Cal laughed shortly. "The 20s are already boring me. The art and literature are getting worse, and so are the clothes."

"Do you mean to say," Rose's eyebrow arched, "You don't enjoy the sight of women going about in short skirts?" She pulled the last few books from the bookcase. "I wouldn't have named you, of all people, as an upholder of common morality," she said dryly.

Cal's head spun from the implications of her remark. "Common morality and personal morality," he said, choosing his words carefully, "are not the same thing." He grasped on end of the bookcase as she grasped the other. Together, they carried it down the hall and into the front room. "No," she said. "I suppose in your case they're not." Her blue-green eyes were hard but inscrutable. Was she accusing him? Or was she seeing how he would react? And in either case, why? After three years, weren't they beyond that?

"So," he said brightly, "Why the sudden need to move the furniture around?"

Her eyes softened. "Oh, I just felt like changing things," she replied. She grabbed a handful of books and began arranging them on the top shelf. "I've lived here for five years, and I just realized this morning I've had everything in exactly the same place the whole time. I couldn't take it anymore. It was either this or leave, though, I'm not sure I won't," she added, more to herself than to him.

He kept his voice level. "Leave? And go where?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "Anywhere. I've never seen the mountains on this side of the country. Maybe I'll go there." A new light came into her eyes. "Maybe I'll go to Mexico. It's supposed to be beautiful there, or maybe Canada."

"Canada is an icy wasteland, and Mexico is no place for a woman. You'd do better to find a more populated destination that carries less of a chance of being murdered."

Her mouth thinned slightly. "I think I could handle things, and when did you become so concerned about what I do?" Before he could answer she added, "It doesn't matter anyway. If I went I would have to give up the apartment and find a place to store my things or get rid of them."

"Give up the apartment? Why?"

"Well, who knows how long I'd be gone. I don't have the money to pay the rent in advance indefinitely, and what if I decide not to come back? It would just be a waste." She dropped into the chair next to the window. Curls that had escaped the knot at the base of her neck framed her face. Cal watched her from his chair across the room. Her feet were bare. She wore no make-up. The man's shirt and pants she wore hung loosely on her frame, obscuring the curve of her waist and swell of her breasts. She had always been fair, but there was a new paleness in her cheeks. The hollows beneath her eyes were dark, as though from not sleeping. Her hands, resting idly on the chair arms, were thinner than the last time he saw her, just a few days before.

She isn't eating enough, he decided. Or sleeping enough. Asking would be a waste of time. She would just brush off the question with a shrug and change of subject or a sarcastic retort about his own health. He was too busy with his thoughts to notice her eyes on him. "Are you still having the dreams?" she asked quietly.

"What?" He quickly recovered himself. "Oh, the war dreams. No, I haven't been having them as often lately."

She tilted her head to the side. "What other dreams are you having?"

"Well, aside from the usual ones about you, none," he said jokingly. She rolled her eyes. "You don't dream about me," she said. "And if you do, I'll thank you to stop. I know enough about what goes on in your head."

….

Jack squinted against the evening sun as he stepped off the train. The voices around him mingled together, their greetings and good-byes mixing into one soothing hum. The air was filled with the smell of coal, horses, and the sweat of the crowd. It wasn't a particularly pleasant smell as far as most people were concerned, but Jack had always liked it. Every train station he had ever been to smelled the same; it was one constant in a life full of changes. He walked slowly through the crowd, taking in everything. Later, before he fell asleep, he would try to draw the images he remembered best.

A cool breeze blew his hair back. He shifted the weight of his bag from one shoulder to the other and slipped his free hand into his pocket. Although he walked with the easy stride of someone who knows where he's going but doesn't carry when he arrives, the truth was he had no idea where he was going. It had been twelve years since he left Santa Monica, and he doubted if the few people he'd made friends with back then still remembered him—if they were even still around. On the bright side, despite his somewhat bedraggled appearance, this time he had more than $2.50 to his name. Carefully folded at the bottom of his bag was $200 in cash, the payment for the last painting he sold before leaving San Francisco. He hadn't intended to come back to Los Angeles, let alone Santa Monica, but when he stepped up to the ticket counter he discovered there was only one more train leaving that day. Without a second thought he decided it was a sign.

His stomach suddenly gave a loud growl, bringing him back to the tasks at hand. It would be dark before he knew it, and finding a room for the night would be easier while the sun was still up. After that he would let himself think about dinner.

….

Rose sighed as the door clicked shut behind Cal. She pushed her curls away from her face and began collecting the dinner dishes. She had a perfectly fine table in the kitchen, but every time Cal came to dinner they ended up sitting on the floor around the coffee table. It was rather ironic considering the types of dinners they started out having together. A yawn escaped as she poured the remains of the coffee down the sink. It was wasteful, but so was saving it for the next morning only to decide not to drink it. She only kept the coffee for him; if it had been up to her they would have just drank milk or water, but even in his new state Cal rejected beverages like that. If he could not drink champagne with his dinner then he would settle for coffee, which he secretly preferred.

These dinners were exhausting, though Rose couldn't say why exactly. Cal had a tendency to linger long after the last bite had been eaten, rationing his coffee into ever smaller sips, as if the thought of leaving were just too much for him. Spending most of the afternoon, for he always arrived well before dinner time, and the entire evening with him left her craving solitude. Their conversations rarely ventured beyond sarcastic jabs and cultural or current event discussions. Keeping their emotions at bay was what left Rose exhausted, guarding herself against any statements which might lead to something best left untouched. They hadn't discussed the past since right after his arrival, and even then details had been avoided.

 _"I'll help you," Rose said._

 _"I don't want your pity," Cal replied, a scowl in his voice._

 _"What you want doesn't really matter anymore," she shot back. "You need my help whether you like it or not. That is, unless you prefer your father's solution—"_

 _"No!" Cal avoided her eyes. "No," he said, quietly this time. "I think you may be onto something."_

 _She smiled. "Let's discuss terms."_

She slipped out of her dress and let it fall to the floor. Yawning again, she quickly removed the pins from her hair. It fell down her back, longer than ever. There really was no need to keep spending so much time with him. His father hadn't spoken to him in at least a year, so there was no danger there anymore. All their business communication was done through secretaries and letters. Rose justified it to herself by saying he still needed one friend who wasn't waiting to profit off him, but she knew that wasn't really the reason. As shameful as it was, she kept spending time with him because she enjoyed being around him. He didn't need her anymore. He had just as much money as he had ever had, if not more. He was involved in a half dozen projects in L.A. in addition to his share of the Hockley family businesses. He hadn't yet joined the elite society of L.A., but, she reminded herself, that was no excuse. It was his choice to remain on the periphery of things, and she was—What exactly was she doing?

Rose sighed and pulled the blanket over her. "I don't know what I'm doing."

…

Cal whistled softly. The tune matched his pace. He smiled to himself as the evening played back over in his head. Rose had been lovely despite the tiredness around her eyes. _What she needs_ , he thought _, really is a change of scenery. She's right about that, but she'll go about it all wrong if left to arrange things herself._ Of course, she would never accept a gift like that from him, not under any circumstances. There wasn't a way to simply offer her a trip to wherever she chose as a mere friend. A gesture like that would require a more permanent bond, but the days of such a bond existing between them were long over.

But did they have to be? Cal stopped at the corner and waited for the light to change. It wasn't a completely absurd idea. They were good friends. They could talk intelligently to one another, a trait which he had once thought would never be desirable in a relationship with a woman, and he wanted her. It was at that moment that Cal finally admitted it to himself. His attraction to Rose hadn't faded away, buried under friendship. It had just changed. Suddenly he was overcome by the force of his desire for her. He didn't notice the other man walk up beside him. "It could work," he murmured.

Jack glanced at him, intrigued. His eyes widened. It couldn't be, and yet, he was already sure, it was. The hair was a little looser, but it was the same. The eyes were the same. The build was the same. The clothes were obviously expensive, but even without them the air of importance was enough to make Cal recognizable in rags. Jack didn't know whether to turn his head and pretend not to see him or to make his presence known. It was a toss-up between avoiding a scene and enjoying a scene. He was saved the need to make a decision by the light changing. Cal briskly crossed the street, staring straight ahead, as if he were looking at something beyond his surroundings. Jack just stood there, momentarily unsure where he was going and why he was going there.

…..

"I've missed you," Rose whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his eyes. Jack kissed her hand. "I know," he said. Her skin tingled under his touch. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer. "Where were you?" she asked. He wound her curls around his fingers. "Don't worry about that," he said. "I'm here now."

Brrriiinnnggg

Rose shot up. She grabbed the alarm clock and twisted its knob to Off. With a groan she flopped back onto the pillows. Sunlight streamed through the window next to her bed. It was already a beautiful day; even with the window closed she could hear birds singing. And yet all she wanted to do was pull the blanket over her head and go back to sleep. She lay still, concentrating all her energy on hearing Jack's voice again, but it was a wasted effort. In her dreams she could still hear him perfectly, but when she was awake all she could manage was a few words. The sound of him saying her name, all the ways he'd said it, was the easiest to recall.

She choked back tears. "I'm losing him."

But wouldn't it be better to let the memories fade? To remember the story but keep only the most vivid impressions of it? How else would she ever move on? It's what he would have wanted, but then again, hadn't she done what he asked? Wasn't she living the life she wanted?

"I've given up," Rose said, shocked to hear the words said aloud. "I haven't done anything I meant to."

…

"What do you mean—" Cal's grip on the phone receiver tightened. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I understand. Of course." He took a quick, deep breath. "Perhaps we could arrange another way—Of course not!" he cried. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, slowly this time. "I do understand," he said evenly. "It's just that—Right. Yes, I see. No, that won't be a problem. Fine. Call my secretary when you have the details." With a frustrated groan he slammed the receiver into the cradle. A sharp pain filled the space behind his eyes. He dropped his head into his hands.

"Sir—"

"Not now, Stevens."

"I'm sorry to bother you, but—"

Cal's voice hardened. "I said not now, Stevens. I have a splitting headache. Whatever it is can wait."

"I really don't think it can." Stevens, a slim, impeccably dressed man answered calmly. His grey eyes took in Cal's slumped shoulders and tense jaw. He hadn't seen him this upset in months, but he pressed on all the same. "The workers at the 14th street facility are threatening to strike again."

Cal swore under his breath. "Not that again," he said. "Don't tell me they're still not satisfied." He ran a hand through his hair. "What more do they want? I gave them everything they asked for last time. Wasn't that enough?"

"Well, sir," Steven said, "it appears not."

Cal shot him a withering look. "This is no time for jokes." He stood up. "My family will be here next week."

"Family?"

"Yes, Stevens, my family. You shouldn't look so shocked. I do have one."

"I know that," Stevens said, forcing his long face into impassivity. "They've never come out here before, have they?" Cal shook his head. "This is the first time. My father's secretary just called to give me the good news." He picked up a glass from the bar opposite his desk. "This is just what I need," he said drily. "This insurrection will spread throughout the company if we don't figure out how to stop it today, and my father will be here to see it." Cal uncorked a bottle of brandy and poured a generous drink. "Stevens?"

"Sir?"

"Why is there no ice?"

"I don't know. Perhaps because it's not yet noon, and I hadn't thought it necessary to restock the bar yet?"

Cal stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter. Stevens eyed him curiously. "Sir, are you quite alright?" he asked. Cal nodded, still chuckling. He took a sip of the warm brandy and grimaced at the taste. "I apologize," he said. I seem to have gotten a little hysterical." He set the glass aside. "Have they said what they want?"

"They want paid time off."

"What the hell for?" Cal exclaimed.

"To give them time to travel and enjoy a bit of leisure," Stevens replied. "It seems many of them have decided they would like to enjoy some of the, ah, privileges which the moneyed classes enjoy with such regularity."

"Well, they won't get it," Cal said. "What kind of absurd demand is that? Pay them to do nothing? I'll be damned if I do."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm not sure you can simply—"

"Stevens, I can do whatever I choose," Cal said coldly. His dark eyes held a quiet intensity. "I won't have things dictated to me by a mob of unwashed illiterates. They didn't come up with these ideas on their own. Someone has been stirring up trouble, and we're going to find out who."

"And then what?" Stevens asked. Without giving Cal time to answer he continued, "Let's say we do find the core agitators, what can we do with them? It isn't illegal to organize workers, nor is it illegal to strike. If they, and I'm certain they are, Communists, well that isn't illegal either—"

"Yet," Cal muttered.

Stevens went on as though he didn't hear him. "There aren't many options open to you," he said. "Labor agitators and Communists may not be highly favored by the general public, but as far as your lower level employees are concerned, anything we do to these men will just make them into martyrs."

Cal turned to face the window. The street below was full of the usual mid-afternoon traffic—delivery boys, taxis, office girls hurrying back from late lunches—but Cal saw none of it. His head was filled with images of burning warehouses and broken glass. His cheeks burned at the memory of the meeting that resolved the strike two years before, at his humiliation as one by one he gave in to their demands. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "We aren't giving them what they want again," he said quietly.

"If you'll remember, last time—"

"I don't care what happened last time. We'll find another way, Stevens. Do you understand?"

Stevens nodded. "Yes."

"Good." Cal swept past him. "And my father doesn't hear of this," he added. "The last thing I need is him trying to run things over my shoulder." He slipped into his jacket. "Especially when I have something more important to worry about."

…..

With a weary sigh Rose pulled the last pin from her hair and shook it loose. Her curls fell over her shoulders easily, as though they too were glad the day was nearly over. Quickly, she turned off the lights and locked the door behind her. She smiled as she set off, stretching her stiff legs with each step. The sun was still high in the sky, but the day's heat was finally beginning to dissipate. Of course, she reminded herself, anything was better than the stifling office. The windows on the first floor, where she and the other women worked, remained closed all day, and by noon the air was thick.

Rose threw her head back as a cool wind began to blow. She spread her arms, heedless of the curious glances she received, and just stood there with her eyes closed. For a moment she could almost feel Jack's hands on hers, almost feel the caress of his fingertips. "Rose?" She gasped, startled out of the memory. Cal eyed her with thinly veiled concern mixed with amusement. "What were you doing?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Just enjoying the fresh air. What are you doing here?" she added, her voice rising slightly.

"I came to ask you to dinner," he said.

"Oh," she said sheepishly. "Of course."

He watched her expectantly. "Did you think I had something else in mind?"

"No," she replied, carefully studying his features. It was as if she were seeing him anew. "I just wasn't expecting to see you today. Isn't this the evening you dine with the Mintons?"

"Ordinarily, yes," Cal said. "But if I keep appearing there it will just encourage Daphne."

"And we can't have that," Rose said drily. His mouth thinned. "I'm not interested in her. There's no point in giving her false hope."

"And her vulgar, nouveau riche family has nothing to do with your disinterest?"

"Nothing at all," Cal said. "Now, are we having dinner or not?"

"Oh fine. I _am_ hungry, and it was a terrible day," she said as Cal swept her toward a waiting car. "At the very least I won't have to walk home." Her flippant tone masked the avalanche of emotions within her. Was he the answer? Were his bumbling attempts to change supposed to mean something more to her than they did? Rose couldn't deny he was an attractive man, but since the end of their engagement the thought of having him as a lover had never occurred to her. It was just as well; the idea had never appealed to her. And yet she suddenly found herself stealing glances at his hands.

….

Every time she ate in public Rose felt as though she were back at a high society dinner where everyone was watching her every move, even if, like that night, she were eating in a cheap diner. She had only been momentarily surprised by Cal's choice. Of course he would pick a place like this; it was all part of his attempts to distance himself from the past. As she watched him over the rim of her water glass she wondered why he kept trying to make himself into something he was never meant to be. His eyes darted around the room, as if waiting to be spotted by someone he knew. He eyed the food suspiciously before eating it and tried to examine his glass for spots without her noticing.

"We didn't have to come here," she said.

"It's fine," he said, distracted by what he thought was a stain on the table but was actually just part of the wood grains. "It's different."

"Yes, if by 'different' you mean painfully uncomfortable."

He looked up. "Are you uncomfortable?"

"No, but you are."

"I am not. Why would you say that?"

"Cal, you tense up every time a new person walks in," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have insisted we go out for dinner. I thought if we came here it would be less awkward."

"For whom?"

"Well, you," he admitted. Rose stared at him, unsure how to respond. "Because if we went to any of the places I frequent not only would you not blend in at all—"

She wasn't sure where the urge came from, but suddenly she heard herself speaking. "I think that's about enough explaining," she said coolly.

"Rose, don't get angry. You know I didn't mean—"

"No, I know what you meant. I look poor, and you can't risk being seen with me by people who know you."

"Damn it, Rose, that's not—"

"I am poor," she said, her voice quiet but angry. "And that's just fine with me. In fact, I wouldn't have it any other way." Her chair squeaked as she pushed it back. He stood up as she did. "Rose—"

"Good night," she spat, turning on her heel and walking away.

Cal threw his napkin down. "Damn it, Rose," he called, hurrying after her. By the time he got outside she was halfway down the street. At the sound of his voice she increased her pace, but she had to stop when she reached the corner. "Let me explain," he said. "What I meant is, I know you aren't part of that world anymore. I know you don't want to be." She pretended not to hear him. He touched her arm. "Rose."

She stiffened; panic surged through her. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to be happening. It was all too much; it was too soon. Everything had been wrong since his sudden appearance; he wasn't supposed to be there. He took a step back. She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "Take me home, please?" He nodded. "Whatever you want."

Rose felt his eyes on her, felt the weight of his unasked questions. She slumped against the seat, exhausted. _What is wrong with me? Have I gone insane? It's just Cal._ Her heart skipped a beat. That was the problem. She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. _I should love him_ ; _shouldn't I?_ The breeze from the open window blew her hair away from her face, bringing with it the scent of saltwater. A dull ache filled the pit of her stomach as Jack's smile flashed before her eyes. _But I love_ _ **him**_ **.**

Cal rubbed the middle of his forehead. The pain behind his eyes was back and spreading. All he'd wanted was an evening with Rose, nothing complicated, just a few hours of looking at her and talking to her. If anyone could make him forget the stress of the day, she could, but now he would be up all night.

…

The walk to her door was silent. "I hope you don't mind, but I'd rather you didn't come in. I'd like to just go to bed," Rose said. As she turned to go inside, he reached out and took her hand. "Rose, there's something I want to tell you."

Rose kept her face impassive. "I think that may not be a good idea," she said.

"No, it probably isn't, but I'm going to tell you anyway," Cal said. He looked down into her eyes. Rose held her breath. His eyes were bright and warm, but they didn't fill the world. His gaze didn't reach to her knees. "I love you," he said. His words hit her like a punch in the stomach. It wasn't supposed to be like this; it wasn't supposed to be with him. "I have to go inside," she said quickly. "I'm sorry. I'll see you tomorrow." Stunned, he watched her go.

…

Jack drained the last few drops of beer from his glass and set it down with a satisfying click. Ted watched him with interest. "You don't feel anything, do you?" he asked, moving to refill the glass. "I'll feel that one," Jack said, waving his friend's hand away. He leaned back in his chair. "So, this is what you do now?"

"Some of the time," Ted replied. "This—" He gestured to the crowded bar. "Is how I pay for what I really do."

"And that is?"

"I'm a labor organizer. I get unions going, educate the workers, do what I can to make strikes successful."

"I never pictured you doing that," Jack said. "When I met you—"

"I was a different person," Ted interrupted. "That was a long time ago, Jack, and you're one to talk. What happened to seeing the world on pennies a day?"

Jack laughed. "What can I say? All it takes is one person to like your work, and then—" He snapped his fingers. "You're sleeping in a real bed every night and waking up without flea bites."

"So what brings you back here, then? Sounds like you were doing just fine in San Francisco."

"I was, but it was time to move on. I'd been there two years. I never meant to stay that long. I came out here to see about leaving America again, go to India this time, maybe." He studied the pile of peanut shells on the table. "Just wanted to come back here first," he said, softly this time.

"Who is she?"

Jack's head shot up. "What?"

"The woman," Ted said. "Who is she?"

"There isn't a woman," Jack said, rolling his eyes. "Everything isn't about that."

"Fine. Whatever you want." Ted leaned forward. "Listen, while you're here, why don't you think about joining me? It wouldn't have to be for long. Leave whenever you want. But I could use a man like you on this new project." Jack began to protest, but Ted ignored him. "Jack, you're good at getting people to listen to you. You make everyone feel like they're your best friend, and that's exactly the kind of man I need if I'm going to help these people win."

Jack cracked open another peanut. "Win what?"

…

Cal slammed the phone down with a muttered curse. Before he could remove his hand, it rang again. "What?" he snapped into the receiver.

"Sir, there's a Miss Dawson here to see you," a crisp, female voice answered.

Cal's shoulders began to slump a little less. "Send her in."

He stood up as the door opened. Rose walked quickly, her eyes solemn. "I'm sorry about last night," she said.

"It's alright. Sit down," he said, gesturing to the empty chair opposite his desk. She shook her head. "No, I don't intend to be here that long." She took a deep, steadying breath. "I spent the night thinking about this—about us—and I realized a few things." Cal's heart quickened. "Yes?" he said levelly.

"I don't know how I feel about you," she said slowly. His eyes dimmed. It was hardly the declaration he hoped for. "But I feel something," she explained. "I just can't think about it yet." She moved toward him. "There's something I need you to do for me before I can, something I need to know, and I'm trusting you to be honest about what you find out."

"What is it?"

"Find out what happened to Jack."


	2. Chapter 2

Ted steered Jack toward a waiting group of men. They were dressed simply, though neatly. Most had patches on their pants, and their shirts were thin from numerous washings. At their approach conversation ceased. "Fellas, this is Jack Dawson, an old friend of mine," he said. Several of the men nodded. A tall, red-haired man at the front of the group stepped forward and offered his hand. "I'm Seamus Costigan," he said; he spoke with a thick Irish accent. "Welcome to the project."

"Is that the right word for it?" Jack asked, releasing his hand. Seamus shrugged. "It's as good a word as any," he replied.

"Seamus, why don't you take Jack around and tell him more about what we're doing," Ted suggested. "I've got some calls I need to make."

"Aye." Seamus turned to the others. "You all have your assignments," he said. He nodded at a fresh-faced man with black hair. "Keep 'em in line, O'Brian." O'Brian gave an exaggerated salute and turned to leave, followed by the rest of the men. "What are their assignments?" Jack asked, falling into step with Seamus. They turned down a long hallway with a staircase at the end. "Most of 'em are working on rounding up other workers who would benefit from our project, but others have more specialized tasks," Seamus explained. "It's best you don't know too much right off." Jack couldn't help but notice the way Seamus avoided meeting his eyes. "What you'll be working on is down here," he went on. As they neared the bottom step the sound of type keys clicking and clacking began to fill the air. "This is where the speeches and pamphlets get written." They stepped into a large room. Desks filled the space near the walls. A printing press stood in the middle. The windows were covered over with paper; bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling provided the only light. Jack was intrigued by the almost equal mixture of men and women.

"I'm not a writer," Jack said. "I'm not sure if Ted—"

"Oh, you won't be writing," Seamus said. "You'll be approving the speeches. Ted said you were good with words, good at talkin to a crowd, so it's your job to make sure the speeches they write for you sound like something you'd say." Seeing the apprehension in Jack's face he added, "It's really not that hard once you've been at it a few days. You just read through whatever one of the writers hands you, and you put whatever doesn't sound right into your own words."

"Seems like a lot of unnecessary work," Jack said slowly, letting his eyes take in everything. Two men in shabby suits with rolled-up sleeves were operating the printing press. A pale man with glasses sat at the desk nearest them; he was typing furiously. At the next desk sat a young woman with red hair; her mouth was a thin line. She typed a few letters and then sat back, scowling at the typewriter, as if it were refusing to divulge secrets. Jack's heart skipped a beat. Tightening his jaw, he took a deep breath. Her hair wasn't the right shade of red, and she had freckles. Her hands were small, the fingers short and plump. _What were you expecting_? he asked himself. _She's gone._ Seamus called the skinny man with glasses, whose name was Branwell, over, but Jack heard nothing either of them said. His ears were filled with Rose's voice.

 _Jack! This is where we first met._

A lump formed in his throat. His hands closed around empty air.

…

Stephens laid a folded newspaper on Cal's desk. "I believe it's customary to eat breakfast sir," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. Cal, not looking up from the stack of papers in front of him, muttered an unintelligible reply. "Well, it is your decision," Stephens said. "You're having luncheon with Mr. West today."

"Today?" Cal said, still not looking up.

"Yes sir. You're to discuss the terms for purchasing a controlling interest in West and Watford Ships."

Cal pursed his lips. Sighing, he pushed the papers aside. "I'd forgotten," he said. It seemed like a year had passed since the date was made, but it had only been two days. So much had happened since then, ending with Rose's bizarre request. It was all he thought about all night. What could have prompted this? After all this time, why did she want to know now? And what was there to find out? He wasn't on the _Carpathia._ If he had been, he would have been tossed in with the other steerage passengers, and they would have found each other. Unless, that is, he decided he'd rather not commit himself to Rose, but Cal knew that was just wishful thinking. Jack would never have left her voluntarily; that had been made abundantly clear. The only alternative was that he died, drowned or frozen in the icy water, a fact he thought Rose had made peace with. She always seemed to have mourned and moved beyond it, but now Cal realized his view of the situation was horribly limited. Rose had stored her grief deep inside herself, burying what she couldn't bring herself to move beyond.

Stephens' voice rose. "Sir?"

"What?"

"I said, you might want to think about changing into a new suit. That one's rather wrinkled."

Cal looked down at himself. He was still in the suit from the day before. "Yes," he said, smoothing his rumpled shirt. "I think I'll go home and change."

"Perhaps have cup of coffee and eat a little breakfast while you're there," Stephens suggested, a note of kindness in his voice. "The luncheon's at three. It's only nine. You don't want to arrive glassy-eyed with hunger."

Cal grabbed his hat and walking stick. "If there are any calls from my family, say I'm touring the new facility. If anyone else calls, just tell them I'll be back this afternoon."

"And if Miss Dawson calls?"

Cal couldn't help but smile at the mention of Rose. "Tell her I'm at home," he said. "She'll decide from there."

"Very good, sir."

"Oh, and Stephens, put in a call to the White Star Line. I want a copy of the survivor list from the _Titanic_ and a copy of every report on it they have. Anything about survivors who weren't put in with the others, who were kept somewhere else, I want to see it. Anything they wouldn't ordinarily give to the public, I want to see."

….

Rose slammed the drawer shut with a weary sigh. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead; her dress clung to her skin like a strangling hand. It was barely noon. She didn't want to think about how hot it would be at five. As she turned to walk away she was struck by a sharp pain just below her stomach. She sucked in her breath. Feeling the eyes of the others on her, she hurried back to her desk, ignoring the pain.

Breathing deeply and slowly, she willed herself to concentrate on the stack of typing in front of her. At least five of the letters had to be finished by two, and she had been strongly encouraged to finish the rest before leaving for the night, which would never happen if she didn't manage to get herself under control. Soon the soothing click-clack of type keys drove everything from her mind but the meaningless bunches of letters she was converting from one form into another. The pain receded, little by little, until she barely remembered it had happened.

She jumped at the shrill ringing of the phone at her elbow. She picked up the receiver with one hand and kept typing with the other. "Yes?" she said, cradling the receiver between her shoulder and head.

Cal's voice sounded tinny through the phone line. "I've started looking. I thought you might want to know."

Rose's eyes widened. "How did you get this number?" She wasn't sure if her shock came from the call itself or from his words.

"For a woman who asked me not twenty-four hours ago to find someone who hasn't been heard from in a decade you don't seem to have much faith in my ability to get information when I want it," Cal said drily.

Rose frowned. "That isn't what I meant." She glanced around the room; no-one was looking in her direction. "I don't suppose you've found anything yet."

"No. I should have the public reports within a day or so; the more confidential information may take a little longer, but I'll get it." Rose didn't need to see him to know he was radiating confidence. Now, more than ever, failure was even less of an option for him. Had she taken the time to consider it, she might have made rethought her decision to ask for his help given his feelings for her. But all she could see was the relentless pursuit he was capable of and her desire to believe he really was different now.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I realize this is probably the last thing you want to do."

"I won't say I care very much what happened to him, but if knowing makes you happy, then I'll do it."

A small smile spread across Rose's face. "That's what I was hoping you would say."

"I doubt you'll like what we find out, Rose," Cal said. "I just hope you don't have impossible expectations." Rose heard the words left unsaid: He isn't coming back.

"I don't," she said steadily. "I just realized it was time I knew for certain."

….

"So, is this your first time working on something like this?" The question came from Arthur, a young man with wavy dark hair and bright grey eyes. He sat back in his chair, cigarette in hand. Jack sat across from him, hands draped loosely over the chair arms. "Yeah," he said. "I've done a lot of things, but nothing like this. Your, uh, project is more impressive than I realized."

Arthur laughed. "Most people think that when they first start out, but really it's small compared to the other groups. We only operate locally, and we have a lot less money than most of the other groups. We don't make the papers as often," Arthur explained. "So we're overlooked generally, though we did have a hand in the demonstrations at the Hockley plant a few years ago." Jack's ears perked up at the mention of Hockley. Arthur smiled as if remembering fond memories. "That was our first big event. It set the pattern, you could say, for what we've been doing since."

"What happened?" Jack asked, feigning nonchalance. _It wasn't him. He was on the other side of the country. It's a coincidence._

"Well, the short version is a lot of the workers wanted a pay increase and some safety violations fixed. They sent a petition around, but it didn't get anything done. So, a few of them got together and decided to go see the boss, go straight to the top, you see, but one of them was a rat, and they were all fired." Arthur took a drag on his cigarette. "That's when we came in, and things got interesting. All you really need to know is, we won, which didn't make that sonofabitch Hockley too happy, though that was nothing compared to what could happen this time."

Jack leaned forward. "This time?"

Arthur nodded. "It's his company we're about to go against, one of his companies anyway. He's got a hand in every business in town, not to mention his interest in the family businesses back in Pittsburgh."

"You don't mean Hockley the steel tycoon?" Jack asked, hoping his voice didn't betray him. "What's he doin out here?"

"Came out about three or four years ago. Not sure why though. I heard he was messed up pretty bad in the War, but who wasn't?" Arthur chuckled bitterly. "I still have nightmares." He tapped his left knee. "There's a piece of shrapnel lodged in there, and when it rains it's like it just happened." Jack nodded in understanding, wishing not for the first time he had a similar story of his own to offer. He enlisted just after war was declared, but he never made it to Europe. He spent the War being sent from base to base along the East Coast, waiting to be shipped out, but for some inexplicable reason it never happened. He was always assigned kitchen duty, told he would be leaving in a matter of days, but when the time came he just went further up the coast. After the Armistice was signed, his commanding officer at the latest base clapped him on the back and pronounced him one of the lucky few who managed to stay in America because of clerical errors and bureaucracy. Jack was torn between relief and guilt; hadn't he already survived against one set of impossible odds? Surviving a second time seemed like too much to ask for, especially since this time peeling potatoes was the worst he had to endure.

…..

 _One Week Later_

Cal slipped into his dinner jacket. He cast one last glance in the mirror—not a hair out of place—before turning to leave. His new suit fit like a well-made glove, and it should, considering how much he paid for it. His shoes shone like black diamonds. Had he been able to whistle, he would have as he walked to the waiting car. It didn't even matter that he was about to spend the evening at the Minton's, surrounded by a dozen nouveau riche with the odd old money representative mixed in; nothing could dampen his good mood. He didn't even care his family were due to arrive in two days. The first reports from the White Star Line had taken longer to arrive than anticipated, but once they began trickling in, his suspicions were confirmed.

There was no record of Jack at all. He wasn't even listed as a passenger, which actually had surprised Cal at first, but then he remembered Jack's tale of winning his ticket in a game of poker. He wasn't on the survivor list either, though a postscript at the bottom of the letter accompanying it assured him that another, much shorter list would shortly follow. It contained the names of survivors who, for whatever reason, had been missed in the initial rounds. Most had avoided giving their names, but others were physically unable to give them. Cal tensed reading those words, but he told himself the chances of Jack's name appearing on the second list were too slim to even consider. Eight people had been pulled from the water, and so far six of them were accounted for. Rose hadn't told him very much about what happened after the ship finally went down, but he knew she was only able to survive because she found a door to float on. Who knew if Jack could even swim? Always an optimist where his own affairs where concerned, Cal took a decidedly more pessimistic view on matters concerning other people, especially those best left unfound.

He strolled into the party, a smile spreading across his face. Immediately he felt Daphne Minton's eyes on him. She watched him from across the room like a lioness eying a plump gazelle. Her father had begun making his fortune two years before she was born, and all she had ever known was a life of luxury and petting. Her head wasn't completely empty though; she knew just how tenuous her position was. Her father's millions had gotten them into good circles, but the best were, for the most part, still closed to her. It would take the right sort of husband to grant her the social standing she believed was her destiny. The thought that Cal could prefer anyone else never occurred to her. How could he? She was nineteen, with the best figure in Los Angeles, eyes like amethysts, hair that could have been spun gold, and skin like fresh cream—at least, that's according to one of her admirers, who fancied himself of a poetic bent.

A bright female voice burst out. "Caledon!"

Cal forced his smile to remain intact. "Mrs. Minton," he said warmly, moving to kiss her hand. "You're looking well."

"Don't tell me you've just been standing here," she said.

"I just arrived," he explained. "I was taking in your lovely ballroom."

Althea Minton's eyes brightened. "Isn't it just delightful? It turned out exactly as I hoped, though Stanley would insist on adding those horrid paintings." She indicated the nearest with a bend of her head. It was of a red-haired woman sitting astride a horse. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders in thick curls. Cal swallowed his surprise at the resemblance to Rose. "I've seen worse," he said, not taking his eyes off it.

….

Ted's heavy boots on the stairs broke the stillness of the empty building. Jack looked up, surprised to find someone else was still there. The room was dark save for the lamp on his desk. He leaned back and yawned, suddenly exhausted. "What're you still doing here?" Ted asked, dropping into the empty chair opposite the desk. "I stayed to work on this speech," Jack said. "Lost track of time, I guess."

"Dedication. I like that. Making any progress?"

Jack shrugged. "I think so. It sounds more like me now, though I gotta be honest, I've never made a speech like this before. I've never talked about this, not in any way that would make someone think I actually knew what I was talking about."

"You'll do fine," Ted assured him. "And after a few more weeks down here, you _will_ know what you're talking about. Discussing the labor struggle will be as easy as talking about those drawings of yours."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Jack laughed. Seeing Ted's expression he explained, "I'm not a political person. You know that."

Ted leaned forward. "Didya ever think maybe you should be?" He held up a hand. "Seriously. Think about it. Here you are, spent your whole life with nothing, didn't matter to anyone, treated like trash by anyone who was fortunate enough to have a little more than you, and for what? So they can feel superior? Superior how? For having money? That's no kind of basis for a hierarchy." He watched Jack's face, waiting for signs that his words had reached him, but Jack was buried too deep in his thoughts for anything to be seen. "I've mattered to people," he said finally, more to himself than to Ted.

"Well, of course," Ted said. "I wasn't being literal. But if you listen to guys like Hockley you'd think none of us meant anything, not as people, anyway." Jack tensed at the mention of Cal, but Ted was too engrossed in his speech to notice. "Sure, we're good for cheap labor," he continued, clenching his fist. "But that's it. We're nothing if we're not working, and we're barely anything when we are. There's a million of us to the one him. One man quits or dies, what's he care? There's always another to take his place, always a hungrier man who'll do what the last one wouldn't and be grateful for the privilege."

"Seems to me you've got it all figured out," Jack said, lighting a cigarette. "Why bother with all this?"

"Because," Ted replied passionately, "there are a million of us to one of him. If we band together, we can bring these rich bastards to their knees!" Ted laughed dryly. "I can see my rhetoric has left you unmoved."

"It's not that," Jack said. "You know I agree with you. I'm helping, aren't I?"

"Yeah, I guess you are."

Jack shrugged. "It's just not who I am. My heart isn't in this the way yours is."

"You'd rather be drawing. Well, I don't blame you. Some days I wish I could leave all this behind."

"No, you don't," Jack said, shaking his head. "Be honest. This is your life."

"What's your life, then? The drawings?" Ted leaned back in his chair. "We never talk about you, you know. I don't even know what you've been doing all these years."

Jack shrugged. "Not much to tell. I bummed around, met some people, finally started selling some paintings. That's pretty much it."

...

"What an interesting painting," Cal said. "Where did your husband find it?"

"Interesting?" Mrs. Minton laughed. "It's terrible. I don't know how he expects me to entertain guests with such things on the walls. At least," she added, "he agreed to keep the more vulgar paintings in his study."

"Vulgar paintings?" Cal asked. "By the same artist?"

"All of these new things are. He's a new find of Stanley's. Some fellow no-one's ever heard of, but Stanley is sure he'll amount to something. I have my doubts, of course. I also have taste, something which it has become abundantly clear my dear husband does not." She caught Cal's eye. "I'm sure you can't be accused of that," she said.

"I'm flattered by your good opinion," Cal replied. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Daphne making her way toward them. "Do you happen to remember the artist's name, by chance?"

"Davidson? Davison? Something like that."

"Dawson," Cal said, more to himself than to her.

"Perhaps. I'm sorry; I really don't remember. I'm sure he signed the bottom. Don't they usually?"

Cal started to reply but was cut off by Daphne. "Why, Caledon, there you are!" she cried. Her eyes sparkled up at him. "I was beginning to worry you weren't coming," she chided flirtatiously. Cal smiled and extended his hand. "I wouldn't dream of disappointing a lady," he said. Daphne's smile widened slightly. "Well, I shall forgive you."

"Is that Mrs. Randolph by the door?" Mrs. Minton asked, peering around Cal. "Why, I do believe it is. Excuse me, I must speak with her." As she went she caught Daphne's eye. Cal pretended not to notice their silent exchange. "It's been ages since I saw you," Daphne said. "You didn't come to our garden party last week."

"I had business to tend to. It couldn't be helped."

"I'm just thankful I don't have to spend my days dealing with all that dreadful nonsense," Daphne replied. She took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "It all seems so boring, and what's more, I can't understand a word of it." She laughed and waited for the expected reaction, but it didn't come. Cal's mouth turned up slightly at the corner, but otherwise it was as if he hadn't even heard her. He didn't appear to see her either. The pink dress that perfectly accentuated her golden hair, the strand of diamonds around her throat, the neckline that was just cut low enough to titillate without being vulgar, he saw none of it. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the painting across the room. "I didn't know you were such a devotee of art," she said, turning to look at it.

"On occasion, when something strikes my eye," he said.

"It is a rather striking piece, isn't it?" she admitted. She stole a glance at him. "The woman is very beautiful. Even if she does have red hair."

A laugh escaped Cal's throat. "I don't see what's so wrong with red hair." Before she could reply he added, "If you'll excuse me. I'm just very curious about who painted it."

"But-" she began, but he was already moving across the room. Daphne's lower lip curled into a pout. "Ignore me, will you," she murmured. "Not forever."

Mr. Minton appeared at his side. "Ah, Caledon, admiring my new painting, I see." Cal nodded. "It's very interesting. It reminds me of some other work I saw once." His blood cooled at the sight of Jack's signature. _It can't be_. However, his social training did not fail him. "Where did you get it?" he asked casually.

"Interesting story about this piece," Mr. Minton said. "I bought it and a few others from a fellow in San Francisco. There was a park near our house, and once a week he would be there painting or drawing. Sometime he brought finished pieces and sold them. I walked past him a hundred times, and each time I stopped to talk. He wouldn't tell me much about his work, but he was willing to sell some of it. Actually," he added, "at first he wasn't willing to sell that one or one of the others I have, but eventually I offered enough money to entice him. He wanted to leave San Francisco, and he didn't have quite enough," Mr. Minton explained.

"Where was he planning to go?"

"He didn't know," Mr. Minton said with a laugh. "He just said it was time for him to move on. Would you like to see the other paintings?"

"Yes," Cal said distantly. His mind raced. "I would like to see them."

...

"I'll see you tomorrow," Ted called. Jack waved and turned the corner. He plunged his hands into his pockets and began to whistle. Soon his steps fell in time to the beat. It was nearly ten, but, he was pleased to see, the streets were still far from empty. A cool breeze blew his hair back. The conditions were perfect for his favorite kind of walk: a long one with no destination in mind. Without noticing, he began whistling "Come Josephine."

...

The strains of a familiar tune reached Rose's ears, but it was too faint to make out. She slowed her step, hoping it would come closer. It did. A smile spread across her face as she recognized the song. "That's odd," she said to herself. She hummed softly, in time with the whistling. Suddenly a sharp pain seized her; she sucked in her breath. It was as if a knife had been plunged into her lower abdomen. She pitched forward, grabbing a lamppost for support. "Goddamn it," she hissed. "Not now."

...

The sight of the woman clutching the lamppost stopped Jack mid-note. "Are you alright?" he asked, slowly moving closer. "I'm fine," she said in a voice thick with tension. "Really. There's no need to concern yourself. Thank you."

"You don't look fine," Jack said. He leaned down to see her face; a curtain of red curls obscured it. His heart skipped a beat. "Are you sure?"

"I'm certain." Rose pulled herself up, swallowing a groan. "There is nothing—" Her voice caught in her throat. "Wrong with me," she finished quietly. "I—I have to go, but thank you." She turned to leave, the pain forgotten. Jack reached for her. "Wait," he said. She pretended not to hear him. "Please," he said, reaching for her. "I want to make sure you'll be alright." His fingers brushed her arm, sending a shiver down her spine. "I'll be fine," she said, her voice trembling.

Jack spoke without letting himself think any more. "Rose, I know when you're lying." Tears stung her eyes. "How could you?" she asked, turning to face him. But there was no use denying it any longer. It didn't make any sense, but there it was. Or rather, there _he_ was. She let herself fall into his arms. Sobbing, she clung to him. "Jack. Jack. Jack," she chanted, choking up more each time she spoke. He hugged her tightly. "I can't believe it," he whispered. He buried his face in her curls. "This can't be happening."

…..

There was too much to say and yet it seemed like they couldn't say enough. "What have you been doing all of this time?" Rose asked. "Why didn't I find you with the other survivors?"

"I wasn't with them," he explained. "I was unconscious for over a week after we finally got to New York. When the boats started coming back I was pretty close to being dead. I could feel it. But somehow I managed to swim over to one, or really it was more like kinda moving my arms while I floated toward them. One of the passengers panicked and hit me with an oar when I finally made it close enough to reach for help. I couldn't really talk; my voice just didn't work anymore. When I woke up I was in a hospital."

"Why wasn't your name put on the list?"

"It was," Jack said, puzzled. "The day I woke up some White Star Line guys came and asked who I was." He chuckled. "They got upset when they couldn't find a record of me buying a ticket. Since then I've just been doing what I always did, only now I occasionally make a whole dollar off my drawings." Rose studied the tabletop, frowning. "What's wrong?" he asked, leaning forward and placing his hand over hers.

"You didn't look for me?"

"I—" Jack's shoulders slumped. "Your name wasn't on the list, and your mother said—"

"I used yours. Wait. What? My mother?"

"She told me you were dead," Jack said quietly. "She had a funeral for you. I went. Well, I stood outside. I kinda lurked around your house for a bit," he admitted. "I just couldn't believe you were actually gone."

"You know, I never think about what it must be like for her, thinking that all these years," Rose admitted. "To be honest, I haven't thought about her in years." A shadow crossed her face. "I'm a terrible person."

"No. You aren't. You just did what you had to do."

"And I never stopped," she said solemnly. "What do I have to be afraid of now?"

"Then maybe it's time you let her know," Jack said. Rose nodded, her eyes distant. The promise she made to Cal's father wouldn't allow that. No-one was to know where she was; it would raise too many questions. Jack's lips on her hand broke her reverie. She couldn't help but smile as their eyes met. What did any of that matter now?

They couldn't take their eyes off each other. Looking away, even for a second, was a waste of time neither of them could bear, not with so much time to make up for. The hours ticked by, but neither of them noticed until Rose began to yawn. Jack's eyes suddenly began to itch. "It's late," he said.

"I have to work tomorrow," Rose said, annoyed by the prospect.

"Me too." Their eyes met. "Do you want me to go?" he asked. Rose shook her head. "I want you to stay," she answered. She reached across the table and took his hand. "If you want to, that is." His fingers curled around hers. It was amazing how small her hand felt in his. For the first time in years he was conscious of the callouses on his fingertips. "I don't ever wanna go," he said.

They didn't need to say anything else. Smiling coyly, Rose led him to her bed. Jack raised an eyebrow. "We're going to sleep," she said, slipping out of her shoes. Another yawn escaped her throat. Jack shrugged out of his jacket, yawning as well. "Good," he said, lying down next to her. "I'm too tired for anything else." Rose couldn't help but chuckle as she curled up against him. "I'll bet," she said, closing her eyes. "Just you wait," he replied, putting an arm around her. He yawned again. "Just wait until morning."

"We should wait," she said, her voice already thick with sleep. "It's better to wait...after all this time..."

...

Rose awoke with a groan. The pain was back and worse than before. Squeezing her eyes shut, she snuggled closer to Jack, hoping to somehow ignore it. His eyes fluttered open. "Hey," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. "You know," he said, as her head settled on his shoulder. "I dreamed about what it would be like to fall asleep holding you so many times." His lips brushed her forehead, sending a warm spark through her. For a moment the pain was forgotten. "But it's so much better than I ever imagined."

Rose hoped her face didn't betray the ache coursing through her body. "It's hard to imagine how I ever slept without you," she said, looking into his eyes. "Some nights I pretended you were with me. I told myself the blanket was your arms, and I wrapped it as tightly as I could."

"This is crazy," Jack said. "We just find each other on the street after all this time?" Rose laughed. "I can't believe it really happened," she said. "I'm a little afraid I'll wake up tomorrow, and it will have been a dream." Jack cupped her face with one hand. "It isn't a dream." He kissed her. She curled an arm around his neck and deepened the kiss. They moved in unison, shifting their bodies to allow better access. Jack groaned softly as he felt Rose's dress slip up her legs. "Do you know what else I dreamed about?" she whispered.

"Tell me," he said, his lips brushing her neck. Rose tried to reply, but a groan of pain was all that came out. A thick, sharp ache radiated from her abdomen. Jack drew back and studied her face with concern filled eyes. "Are you alright?" he asked. She nodded. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." He touched her cheek. "You're pale." She pulled him down into another kiss. "I'm fine."

"You said that earlier," he said. "I just forgot. I got distracted. What's wrong?" He moved so he was sitting next to her. She avoided his eyes, willing her face not to betray the pain. Wrapping an arm around her, he said, "Rose, just tell me. I can't help if you don't tell me." She let herself sink against him. His shirt was soft against her cheek. His arm tightened around her. A familiar warmth spread through her; it was, she realized after a moment, the feeling of safety. "I have this pain sometimes," she said, pressing her hand over the spot where it always began. "It isn't anything I can't handle."

"For how long?"

"A few weeks? A month or two, maybe?" She grasped for an air of nonchalance. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"You don't know that. Rose, you can't ignore something like that. It could be serious. People don't just walk around in pain for no reason." Seeing her expression he added, "I don't want something to happen to you, not ever, but especially not now, not after I just found you again." He kissed her gently. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"So, you'll see a doctor about this?"

She sighed. "Alright."

Jack kissed her again. "Good," he said.

It didn't take long for him to drift off again. Rose lay in his arms, watching as he slept. He was so peaceful. She wondered if he ever had difficulty falling asleep, if fears and doubts ever kept him awake all night. She steeled herself against a fresh burst of pain. Fear kept her from finding out why it happened, but she couldn't tell him that, not when she couldn't admit it to herself.

...

Rose stretched and opened her eyes; something was wrong. The usual clang of the alarm clock was missing, but even more confusing was how empty the bed felt. "I'll clean up the mess in your kitchen," Jack said as he came in carrying a plate of pancakes. She watched in amazement as he settled onto the bed next to her. "It's not that bad, though," he added. "I'm pretty good at these." A smile spread across her face; happiness bubbled up from within her. "You're still here," she said. Jack grinned. "Of course," he said. "Now, try these."

"They're delicious!" Rose cried. Jack laughed. "I mean it," she said. "Mine never turn out this well."

"I'll teach you," he offered.

"Yes, teach me to cook like a man," Rose said in a poor attempt at a hick accent. Jack opened his mouth to retort, but he burst into laughter. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're just so cute."

"I don't appreciate that," Rose said haughtily. Taking one last bite she set the plate on the bedside table. "I'll thank you not to mock me in my own home, Mr. Dawson." Jack's gaze flicked from her eyes to her lips. "Will you, Miss Dawson?" he said, slowly moving closer. Rose's heart began beating faster. "Indeed," she replied. As their lips met she said, "I'm late for work."

"So am I."

"We shouldn't let ourselves be any later." But she pulled him closer anyway. She marveled at how soft his hair was between her fingers. Their kisses left her breathless. Before she knew it they were lying down, tangled in each other's arms. Jack's lips moved across her throat. "You weren't exaggerating when you said wait until morning," she teased. She shivered as Jack began gently tugging her dress from her shoulders. "That was certainly quick," she said. He kissed her hungrily. "Less buttons this time," he said. "And I'm not so nervous," he added. Giggling, she slipped the dress off and tossed it to the floor. The look in Jack's eyes made her cheeks burn.

"Jack—" A knocking at the door cut her off. "Ignore it," she said. "They'll go away." The knocking continued, and despite their best efforts to ignore it, they could not. Jack groaned in frustration. "They're not going away," he said. Rose moved to get up. "No, no, no," he said. "You stay here. I'll see who it is." He kissed her again. "I don't want to have to get you back outta that dress." Rose watched him go with a sigh.

A moment later, she leapt to her feet, the haze of desire shattered. There was only one person who would be at her door at ten a.m. "Jack, wait," she called, quickly shrugging into a robe. It was too late.

Jack and Cal eyed each other warily, each waiting for the other to move first. They turned when Rose entered the room, which only escalated the tension. "What in the hell's he doing here?" Jack demanded, moving to block Cal's view of her. Cal's expression remained unreadable, but his eyes hardened at the sight of Rose, her hair tumbling down her back in tangled curls and holding a robe closed over her obviously nude body. His gaze moved to Jack, who glared at him, stone-faced. "Of course," he said. Stepping past Jack, he trained his eyes on Rose. "I suppose you didn't need me after all."


	3. Chapter 3

Rose felt torn. Her first instinct was to follow Cal, but she couldn't run after him and leave Jack without an explanation. Also, she wasn't dressed. Sighing, she closed the door. Jack regarded her intently, a blend of curiosity and anger in his face. She didn't have to look at him to know he was upset; why wouldn't he be? Eventually, Jack found his voice. "Why was he here?"

"That's a long story," she answered.

"I have time."

"Are you sure you want to hear it?" she asked. "I'll understand if you'd rather just go."

"I want to hear it," he said.

Rose forced herself to look at him. At least his eyes weren't hard. She believed him. "After I get dressed, I'll tell you," she said.

…

They settled at the small kitchen table. When she came in there was a plate of fresh toast, butter, jam, and a bottle of milk in the middle of the table. Two places had been set. Jack stood next to one of the chairs. "I figured you'd want breakfast," he explained. "I just—I didn't go through your kitchen. I only got out the things I needed."

She took a seat in the other chair. "I don't mind," she said with a small smile. "Thank you."

"You don't have any coffee," he said, sitting down. "But I guess you already knew that."

"I don't care very much for it," she replied. "I mostly keep it for—guests," she finished awkwardly.

Jack's was tight, his shoulders tense. "You keep it for him, don't you?" he asked quietly.

"Yes." She looked into his face. "He eats dinner here sometimes. I suppose you could say we spend a lot of time together."

"He did seem pretty at home here. Like you expected him."

"I wasn't expecting him. That's just the way he is."

"Why do you see him at all?" Jack didn't want to sound accusing, but he couldn't help it. The scene kept replaying in his mind. The way Cal had looked at him—even worse, the way he had looked at Rose, as if there was something between them. It was the last thing he had expected to happen. "After what he did?" he added.

Rose closed her eyes. The familiar twinge was in her lower abdomen. She breathed slowly, hoping it would go away. "I know what he did," she said, opening her eyes. "I remember all of it. Don't think I've forgotten. But I've forgiven him. It wasn't easy, and it took a long time, but I've done it. I'm glad I did. I thought I had let go of all the pain and rage until I saw him again. One look at his face brought it all back." Without thinking, she reached out and took his hand. "Jack, I felt awful; I was carrying a weight around my neck. I couldn't concentrate on anything. I couldn't sleep. It felt good to forgive him," she went on. "Being angry gave him power over me, and I hated that even more."

There was a long pause before Jack spoke. "I can understand that," he said. "And I can even be glad you did it if it made you happier, but why spend time with him? You're—are you friends now?"

"We are. I'm not sure how it happened. At first, I only spent time with him because of the arrangement I made with his father and because I pitied him. He was nothing like the man I'd known; he was sad and scared. I understood him, a little. Eventually, I realized I liked spending time with him. I began seeing things I never expected to see in him. He's actually a rather sensitive person, but he hides it."

"He's a damn good job then," Jack said drily. "I never woulda guessed."

"I'm sorry he came here before I had a chance to tell you everything," she said. "Believe, I was going to tell you. Things happened so quickly. Cal was the last thing I wanted to talk about last night."

"Yeah, me too."

"I promised his father I would keep an eye on him," she explained. "What he really wanted was for me to keep him under control, out of sight and out of trouble. He wanted me to make sure Cal didn't embarrass the family any further."

"Why would you agree to do that? He's not your responsibility. Why did you care what happened to him?"

"Because of my mother," she said. "Cal had been supporting her, but when he started behaving erratically—as his father put it—the family threatened to cut him off. To cut him out of the businesses and out of the family. It would be as if he were dead. He would have nothing, and so would she. If I helped, his father agreed to continue paying her bills and giving her an allowance. It isn't extravagant; it doesn't compare to what she would have had if I'd married Cal, but she's comfortable. He also agreed not to tell her where I am."

"I didn't realize," Jack said apologetically. "Why don't you want her to know where you are?"

"She doesn't even know I'm alive," Rose said. "I think she's better off not knowing. She would hate my life now, and if she knew I still see Cal but won't marry him she would pretend I was dead."

"She might surprise you."

"Maybe. I've never cared to find out."

"I still don't understand how you get involved in all this."

"Cal's father sent him out here. It was his last chance. They were expanding their empire, and they didn't know many people in Los Angeles, so stories about his behavior hadn't gotten around yet. I was here. He ran into me."

 _Winter 1919_

 _At least it was warm. If he had to be in this place, at least there was decent weather. What could his father have been thinking sending him there? A new city wouldn't change anything. The problem was him; it was in his head. There was nowhere he could go to escape it. When he closed his eyes he saw it all, the lifeless bodies with their glassy eyes, the boys with their limbs blown off, the trenches brimming with blood-soaked mud. He couldn't bear silence. The screams filled his ears first, and then the guns. Finally, he heard the bombs. Sometimes, when he ate he tasted the foul air of the battlefield instead of his food. He barely slept anymore. The last thing sent him into a panic. He couldn't carry on a decent conversation._

 _No-one understood. He tried to tell his father during a rare moment of affection between then, but Nathan had just stared at him. "It's over now," he said. "Stop thinking about it." But Cal couldn't stop thinking about it. The War haunted him. The memories came, unbidden and unstoppable. Why couldn't his father see that? Why couldn't anyone see that? They acted as if he was supposed to be the same person he had been before; the War wasn't supposed to have affected him. The other men in his circle who had fought refused to talk about it and advised him to do the same. But he couldn't. He needed to talk about it._

 _Cal was too lost in thought to see her. She was digging in her bag, an armful of books balanced against her hip. He walked quickly, almost stomping. Their collision was inevitable. His foot came down on hers. She cried out in pain and surprise. Startled, he reacted instinctively and kept walking, his hands out to push away whatever was coming at him. Fear swirled around him. He shoved her back. She fell onto the pavement; her books scattered around her. The contents of her bag spilled all over the sidewalk. Her eyes fluttered before closing completely. She twitched, as if trying to get up and then lay still._

 _Cal stared down at her in horror. What should he do? A crowd was beginning to form. He bent down and gave her a gentle shake. "Miss?" he said, although he was certain it was Rose—of course it was her. No-one else had hair like that. He would have recognized her face anywhere. The crowd began to murmur. Some of the onlookers moved closer. Cal felt himself beginning to panic. Carefully, he lifted her head. "Rose," he said quietly, bringing his mouth close to her ear. "Rose, can you hear me?"_

 _She didn't respond. He was surprised by how concerned he felt. What was she to him now? He had no reason to care what happened to her. She could have been anyone. Perhaps it was that no-one had shown any interest in what was happening to him, or perhaps it was how small and fragile she looked lying on the pavement, but whatever the reason, Cal found himself caring a great deal about her well-being. He turned toward the crowd. "Can someone help me?"_

 _1922_

"He was there when I woke up," Rose said. "I was so angry and bewildered, but eventually the situation was explained. He kept coming to see me; he came every day until I left the hospital. We didn't talk that much. He said he didn't want to talk; he said he liked sitting there with me. The silence was just silence then."

"So, the War messed him up pretty bad," Jack said. "And now he's a whole new person." It was clear he was skeptical. There was no reason to suspect Cal of an ulterior motive in coming to L.A., in meeting Rose again, aside from the fact that he was Cal, a man Jack knew to be controlling, violent, and manipulative. He was someone Jack was sure would do anything to get what he wanted. But what could he want? Rose? It seemed unlikely that he would still want her after so long. She hadn't meant anything to him; he hadn't been in love with her. And yet, Jack had to acknowledge it as a possibility. After all, _he_ still wanted her.

"I'm not sure I would go quite that far," Rose said. "But he's changed. He's tried to be a better person. Sometimes, I think he's becoming the person he could have been if circumstances had been different."

"And you—" It was difficult to say. "You like him."

"Yes. I don't expect you to understand or to like him yourself. You haven't been here the past few years. You haven't seen what I've seen." She paused. "Jack, I couldn't make friends, not close ones anyway. I never felt comfortable talking about my life before, what happened, _you_. I was afraid people wouldn't understand, or that they'd look at me differently. Or simply not believe me at all. I suppose that's what brought us together. Neither of us had anyone to talk to."

"I don't trust him, and I don't know if I ever can," Jack said. "And I doubt I'll ever want him around, but if he's been good to you, if he's made you happy, then I'll try to accept it. I understand. I don't like it—at all—but I understand."

"So, you still want to be with me?"

"Of course!" he exclaimed. "Rose, I love you. I've spent ten years trying to stop thinking about you, but I never could. You were everywhere I turned. Every woman I saw disappointed me because she wasn't you."

"I tried to move on," she said. "I tried to be interested in other men, but there was always something missing. Now, I wonder if I was waiting for you this whole time."

"We should eat," he said, squeezing her hand.

The toast was cold, but they ate ravenously anyway. As they cleared the dishes, Rose said hesitantly, "Will you stay here?"

"You mean it?"

"Yes."

….

Rose knew she should go talk to Cal, but she couldn't bring herself to leave Jack. Taking him along was not an option. He would never hear her out if he saw Jack. She wished he hadn't been hurt, but she refused to feel guilty. She hadn't done anything wrong. She hadn't known he would be there. She hadn't known she would find Jack. And she hadn't promised Cal anything. They were still just friends, even if she had acknowledged the possibility that she might have deeper feelings for them. But what were they compared to the way she felt about Jack?

As difficult as it would be to maintain their friendship now, Rose wanted to try. She didn't want to lose the relationship she and Cal had built together. He meant a lot to her, and until she saw the hurt, angry look in his eyes, she hadn't fully understood how much. She wished there was a way to make Jack see what she saw in him, and she wished she could make him see what she saw in Jack. There was no reason why they couldn't be friends now, or at the very least, get along with one another. They had nothing but memories to fight over. But would either of them see that?

They didn't leave the apartment for the rest of the day. They lounged on the couch talking. Jack told her about his life since _Titanic_ , the places he had gone and the people he met. Rose was as thrilled by his tales as she had ever been. He seemed to have been everywhere. He'd visited nearly every state, and she suspected he had friends all over the country. He told about his experiences eagerly and in vivid detail.

"And there was this couple—I'll have to show you the drawings," he said. "I can't describe it. After that, I went to San Francisco, and when I got tired of being there I sold a few paintings and came down here."

"You got more than ten cents, I'm sure."

"Yeah," he laughed. "Just a bit more. It doesn't pay for everything, but I make a little from my art now. If nothing else, it gives me extra money for supplies."

"I want to see your work again," she said.

"I'll show it to you," he promised.

They forgot about lunch. If their stomachs hadn't insisted otherwise, they would have forgotten dinner as well. Jack tried to help, but Rose banished him to the table. "I am perfectly capable of making dinner," she said. He watched her with fascination. She hummed to herself as she hurried around the small kitchen. "I hope you don't mind left overs," she said apologetically. "I don't have much else, and I don't want them to go to waste."

"I don't mind at all."

Her dishes didn't match, but Jack liked the way the different patterns look next to each other. Everything in her apartment had been chosen with care. All of the colors worked well together; the furniture was comfortable but attractive. Finally, she sat down opposite him. "You've done so much," he said.

"No, really, I haven't," she insisted. "It's—"

"I meant with your life," he explained. "You've made something wonderful out of it."

"I'm not so sure," she replied. "I came here, and this is where I've been for years. I haven't traveled or gone on grand adventures."

"Life's the grand adventure. Rose, you know that," he said kindly. "Whether you believe it or not, you've been having one. You went on; you survived. You made a home. That's what I wanted for you."

….

She was about to wash the dishes when she felt his lips on her neck. He hugged her from behind, resting his hands on her belly. His kisses traveled down her neck. She sighed. "Jack." His hands moved over her. "I have to finish this," she said.

"I'll do it later."

She turned toward him, intending to reply. She couldn't leave things undone, and the pain was still there, although she wouldn't have told him that. But when she looked into his eyes, her resolve disintegrated. Desire took over. She tilted her head up and kissed him.

They stumbled into the bedroom, kissing furiously. Rose's arms were clasped around his neck; he half-carried her. With shaking hands they undressed each other. For a moment, they simply gazed at one another, each drinking in the other's beauty. He was everything she remembered and more. She hadn't been able to look at him like this the first time. She took his hand and led him over to the bed. They lay down, settling into the other's embrace.

"Are you nervous?" she asked, smiling.

"No," he whispered, in a tone that made her shiver.

It was over before they were ready. Only moments seemed to have passed before they were breathless and trembling. "I'd forgotten," Rose said thickly. She caressed his face. "I forgot how you could make me feel." He kissed her slowly. They didn't truly sleep that night. They dozed off and woke up, reaching for each other. Their desire was insatiable. They were like two starving people put in front of a banquet. Around dawn, Rose fell into a deep sleep. Jack lay awake, blissfully exhausted. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he climbed out of bed. He slipped into his pants and went into the kitchen. The dishes were still in the sink. As quietly as he could, he washed them.


	4. Chapter 4

"I should probably go get some things," Jack said, as they cleared the lunch dishes. "Some clothes, my sketchbook—" He rubbed the day and a half of growth on his chin. "A razor," he added, chuckling.

"Where do you live?" Rose asked. "You never told me. And don't even think of shaving!" she said dramatically. "I love your beard."

"I don't know if I'd call this a beard," he replied. "You really want me to let it grow?"

"I wouldn't mind seeing what you look like with a little facial hair," she said, shrugging. "But I won't be upset if you shave. You'll be just as handsome either way."

"Don't be too sure. It's not the best look on me," he warned. "I tried it a couple years ago."

"Did you really?" Her tone became teasing. "For a woman?"

"No. I was curious. Some women did seem to like it though. But I didn't."

"I've been thinking about cutting my hair," she said. "You know, bobbing it, like everyone else."

"Why haven't you?" he asked,

"I'm not sure," she answered. "I've been a little afraid to. It might look awful; I've never had short hair. I think I would miss it."

Jack lightly ran his hand over her curls. "I'd miss it," he said. "Don't let that stop you from doing it, if you really want to."

"That's the trouble. I don't know. You never answered my question," she said.

"Oh yeah. I'm living in a rooming house, a few streets over. It's not much," he explained. "I don't spend a lot of time there, though."

"You know, Jack, when I asked if you would stay here," she began, "I was hoping you would _stay,_ that you'd live here with me. Or we could find another place, if you'd rather." Rose couldn't believe how nervous she felt saying those words. It felt as though she were asking him to marry here. Wasn't she, in a way? She had no reason to think he would say no or leave, but his presence alone seemed too good to be true. Rose was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He hadn't stormed out when Cal appeared, but that didn't mean something else wouldn't drive him away.

"I thought that's what you mean," he said. "I want that; I wasn't planning on going back there, except to get my stuff. We don't have to move. I love your place; it's nice. There's plenty of room for both of us. I don't have a lot of stuff." He took her hands. "Rose, you don't hafta worry," he went on. "I'm not going anywhere. Nothing's gonna get me away from you this time. In fact, would you—I want to ask if you'd—" His heart beat wildly; his mouth was dry. "Rose, will you marry me?" he finally managed to say. "I know it might seem sudden, but we've been apart so long. I don't want to waste any more time. I want—I want you to be my wife."

Rose's smile was so wide it hurt her cheeks a little. She felt as though she could have floated away if he hadn't been holding her hands. Those were the words she had dreamed of hearing from him for so long. "Of course I'll marry you," she said. "Jack, you didn't even have to ask!" She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "You don't know how much I've wanted this moment to happen."

He kissed the top of her head. "Yeah, I do," he said.

….

"While you get your things, I'm going to go see Cal," Rose said, watching his face for a reaction. There was only a hint of a frown. "Alright," he said.

"It isn't that I don't want you to go with me," she explained, suddenly self-conscious. "I just think it would be best if I spoke to him alone. I feel a little guilty about what happened yesterday. I know I shouldn't; it isn't being with you I feel guilty about. It's that he found out the way he did. It hurt him. I know it was his own fault, in a way, for just showing up like that, but I wouldn't have expected to find you here either if I were him."

Jack could hardly bring himself to say the words, "He still wants you, doesn't he?"

"He thinks he does, sometimes, but really it's that he's comfortable with me. I'm not after his money. I know all about his past. I understand the problems with his family," she answered. "If he tried, he could find a woman to really love and who could love him."

"You don't think he really loves you?" Jack pressed.

"No. Not like that. Not the way you do. I wouldn't say he doesn't feel something for me, though."

"What did he mean when he said you didn't need his help after all?" Jack asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

"I asked him to try and find you," she answered. "To see if there was a record of what happened to you, if somehow you were—if you survived. I asked him about a week ago. I expected to hear you had…." She couldn't finish the thought.

"Why now?"

"I don't know." _Yes you do_ her mind insisted. "I just needed to know for sure," she said. "I thought if I knew I could move on." _With Cal. Don't forget that._ But she hadn't seriously considered that, had she? Could she really fall in love with Cal, or had she simply been tired of being lonely? He was convenient; he was attractive; he knew her well, and he cared about her. Even his criticism of her choices was affectionate. Two days ago, he had seemed like an option, but now, she knew anything more than friendship was impossible. Whatever she could have felt for him would have made her happy, but it wouldn't have been enough. Perhaps there was someone besides Jack who could make her happy, truly happy, for the rest of her life, but whoever that was, it wasn't Cal.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Of course not. I trust you." _But I don't trust him_ , he added silently.

…

"Sir—"

"Not now," Cal snapped. His desk was piled with files and papers. He hadn't been able to get any work done in almost two days. Every hour not only brought new reports of increased agitation from the workers, but it also brought his family closer. How would he explain the unrest to his father? What could he possibly say? That it was too much for him? Their organizations were too strong? That he had been distracted by a woman? A woman who had already rejected him once, no less, and had just rejected him again?

How had this happened? When he got to his office the previous morning, the second survivor list was on his desk, and sure enough, Jack's name was on it. Cal had stared at that name until the letters began to lose meaning. If Jack was alive, Rose would want to find him. _And she'll ask me to help_ , he'd thought. But what were the odds that Jack was still alive? He'd survived the sinking, but ten years was a long time. Anything could have happened to him. What if he was married now? Or no longer handsome and charming? No, he'd decided. If Jack were still alive, he would be just as wonderful as she remembered him. Rose would run into his arms with a radiant smile, and he would catch her, overjoyed to see her again. Everything and everyone else would fade into the background.

Unless he didn't tell her. But could he do that? Could he lie to her about something that meant so much to her? What difference would it make? She would never find out. And it wasn't as though the chances of him surviving were that high. He had already warned her about looking for information she might not like.

He couldn't it.

Yes, he could.

Cal wrestled with his thoughts all the way to Rose's apartment. Part of him had been relieved to find Jack already there. At least now he didn't have to make a decision.

"Sir," Stevens said. "Miss Dawson is here."

"What? She is? Well, send her in!" Cal ordered impatiently.

He stood up as she came in. He started to move toward her but then didn't. She stood on the other side of his desk; her posture was stiff and awkward. They both hoped the other would speak first. Finally, Cal said, "I didn't expect to see you."

"I came to apologize for what happened yesterday," she replied. "I'm sorry you found out that way."

"Is that all you're sorry for?"

"I don't have anything else to be sorry for," she said calmly. "I'm not your fiancée anymore. I haven't done anything wrong."

"No, I guess you haven't," he said coolly. He knew he shouldn't say it, but he did. "Did you intend to ever be with me, or were you just using me to find him?"

Rose's mouth was a thin line. "Don't you dare speak to me that way," she said. Her tone was calm but lethal. "After all I've done for you? All we've been to each other? You would say something like that? I forgave you; I trusted you. Does that mean nothing now? You would destroy our friendship because of petty jealousy?

Her words stung. "No," he said. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did."

"Alright, maybe I did, but I _am_ sorry. I don't want to hurt you. When I saw you with him—Rose, it was like we were back there again, and it made me so _angry_ , I just—I did want to hurt you. And him." Cal sighed. "I felt betrayed, but that's silly, isn't it? You aren't mine; you never were. I don't know why I thought—"

"Cal, please, let it go," she said, not unkindly. "I'm sure you don't really love me; you just think you do. I'm familiar and pretty. Being with me is easy. But there are other women, women who can love you the way you deserve."

She had never looked more beautiful to him than she did at that moment. Her curls were pulled back and held with a ribbon. Her dress was a deep blue. She looked at him with such sincerity in her eyes, such genuine affection. _But I don't love any of them_ , he thought. _I don't want any of them._ But that didn't matter. He couldn't have her any more. He had to settle for the terms she offered or lose her completely.

"I won't apologize for loving you," he said. "Only for not appreciating how wonderful you are sooner." He paused. "Rose, if I had, if my behavior had been different—"

"Don't," she said. "Please, don't. Dwelling on the past won't make either of us happy. I want us to keep being friends. I want you and Jack to be friends."

Cal snorted. "Little chance of that happening."

"You can try," she said forcefully. "If you love me the way you say you do, you'll try."

"And how does he feel about all of this?"

"I told him everything," Rose answered. "He isn't entirely happy with me spending time with you. He doesn't trust you. But he doesn't know you the way I do," she added. "And you don't know him. You're both wonderful people, in your own ways. There's no reason the three of us can't get along."

"My family will be here tonight," Cal said, changing the subject. There were plenty of reasons the three of them couldn't get along, but he didn't want to discuss them. He was willing to try, even if the sight of Jack turned his stomach. "Mother, father, and my darling sister." His tone was thick with sarcasm.

"Do you still want me to come to dinner?" she asked.

"Of course. I don't know how I'll survive otherwise," he replied. "And there's a party Saturday. If you're willing to come."

"Can I bring Jack?"

He swallowed the urge to say no. "Sure. If you want to," he said, hoping he sounded convincing. "I suppose you'll be marrying him now?"

Rose smiled. "Eventually. He asked me today. We don't have any plans yet. He's moving into my apartment. That's about as far as we've gotten." She laughed. "It still doesn't seem real. I keep waiting for something awful to happen. I couldn't leave him all day yesterday because I was afraid he wouldn't be there when I got back. I was sure he would disappear, that he was just a dream. I probably lost my job, but I don't care." Her eyes sparkled with joy.

Cal loved seeing her so happy, but he loathed the source of it. "Don't worry about that," he said. "I can get you another one. We always need girls."

"Really? You'd give me a job?"

"Well, you wouldn't be working for me," he said quickly. "Not directly. You'd in someone else's office."

"That's right. You already have a secretary."

Cal shrugged. "I could fire him," he said jokingly. Though part of him meant it.

…..

It only took Jack a few minutes to gather his things. He had only unpacked the bare essentials. Most of his clothes were still neatly folded and in his bag. His art supplies were in their case. Carefully, he placed the few new drawings he'd done in the portfolio. Maybe he would draw Rose later. Maybe he would try drawing them together. Jack had never drawn himself. He wasn't sure he could.

On his way back to her apartment- _Our apartment,_ he silently corrected himself—he stopped at the headquarters. It was still overflowing with people, many of whom were running back and forth; the sound of ringing telephones and the clacking typewriters, beneath the layer of voices, was deafening. He looked around the room, searching for Ted. They spotted each other at the same time. "Jack!" Ted exclaimed, hurrying toward him. "I thought you were dead! Where've ya been?" He eyed Jack's luggage. "Leaving already?"

"Just moving," Jack replied.

"Yeah, you find a better place?"

"You could say that. I'm getting married."

Ted's shock was obvious. "Married? You? I didn't think you even had a girl."

"I didn't," Jack said. "But I do now. It's a long story. Look, I just came by to let you know I'm alright. I've been—I couldn't come in yesterday or this morning. I'm sorry. I may not be able to keep working on this with you."

"Why not? Because of the girl?"

"Sort of. I can't really support a wife on what the revolution pays, you know? She's got a job, but—"

"Yeah, I know," Ted said. "But. Well, I won't say I'm not disappointed. We could've really used you. You sure you can't still help out a little?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I'll let you know, alright?"

Ted nodded. "Alright. We've got some big stuff coming up. I think we're really gonna get somewhere this time. You should come to the rally next week."

….

Jack was in the kitchen when Rose got back. "What are you doing?" she asked from the doorway.

"Making dinner," he answered. "I got some things on the way back."

"You cook?"

"Why not? You do."

She sat down at the table. "I spoke to Cal," she said.

He kept his back to her, hiding his frown. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"Fine."

"That's good."

"Jack, his family is coming to town tonight. It's a sort of tradition that I make an appearance whenever they're here. They only visit a few times a year." She watched tension move through his shoulders and down his back. "I'm sorry," she went on. "I don't want to upset you."

"I'm not," he said. "You didn't. It's fine."

"You don't have to lie. You _can't_ lie to me," she said. "There's nothing between him and I. I could have married him at any point in the last two years if I'd wanted to, but I didn't." She moved over to him. "Jack, please don't be angry."

He turned to face her. "I can't help it," he said. "It's not you I'm angry with; it's him. Even now, he's controlling us. He gets to be with you and act like you're his wife."

"But I'm not, and I'm never going to be. He knows that," she said. "I made it clear today, if it wasn't clear before. I love _you_ ; I'm marrying _you_. He has to accept that. When they leave, I won't see him for a while. It'll just be me and you." She took his hands. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

Jack smiled down at her. "We really do," he said. "I'm not gonna let this bother me anymore. Let's not even talk about it anymore. I only want to talk about the future."

….

Rose had gone almost the entire day without pain, but after dinner, it returned with a vengeance. She clutched the doorframe for support and forced herself to breathe normally. She knew she should see a doctor, but she couldn't bring herself to go. She was afraid to find out something was wrong, but she was also afraid to find out nothing was wrong. Her periods had always been difficult, and this pain was a lot like what came with them.

She hated the thought of the doctor patting her shoulder condescendingly and telling her it was nothing; she was just a little hysterical, a silly girl getting exciting for no reason.

Or it might be something awful, something serious that got worse every day. No, she refused to let herself believe that. Everything was finally beginning to come together. For the first time in years, she was truly happy. There couldn't be a deadly affliction waiting to destroy her life.

Jack lay on the couch, a book in his hands, his eyes half-closed. As she passed, she placed a kiss on his head. "Where're you goin?" he asked lazily.

"To take a bath."

He grinned. "Want me to come with you?"

"Maybe in a few minutes."

He raised his head and looked at her. There was something unsettling in her tone. Her face was pale. "Rose, are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she lied. "Why don't you go ahead and come with me, if you want."

Steam rose from the water. She sighed as she settled into the tub. Soaking in a hot bath helped sometimes. The water had to be so hot she could hardly stand it. Something about it soothed whatever was happening in her body. If she was lucky, she would be pain-free for the rest of the night.

Jack grimaced as he stepped into the scalding bath. "How do you stay in here?" he asked, sitting down at the opposite end of the tub. Their legs overlapped.

"I love it," she said, closing her eyes. "It makes everything feel better." She lay back, resting her arms on the tub's edges.

Jack watched the tension slowly drain from her face. He gazed at her, drinking in her beauty like a nourishing tonic. Desire mingled with an artist's appreciation. He wanted to touch her just as much as he wanted to draw her. The curves that fit so perfectly in his hands also caught light and cast shadows in ways that fascinated him. Part of him worried he would end up too heavily on her in his work. In a way, she had been his muse for the past decade, and now, he would be tempted to put pieces of her in everything. All women would become her if he wasn't careful. He knew he couldn't let it happen, even if it was tempting.

It seemed like the perfect way to express his love, the ultimate gift to her. But they couldn't survive with her as his sole muse, with her as a Goddess at whose feet her worshipped. They would lose respect for one another. He would make awful, unreasonable demands of her. He could see it as clearly as if it were happening already. It sounded slightly paranoid, even in his head, but he knew it happened.

…

Rose checked her reflection in the small bedroom mirror. Her hair was perfect. Her dress wasn't new, but it wasn't too old either. Cal had offered to buy her a new one, but she refused. He had offered her expensive clothes before, though never with as much urging as when his family visited. As far as she was concerned what she already had was good enough for anyone. In the end, he usually agreed with her; she made even the simplest dresses look fit for a queen. He hated to admit it, but he actually preferred her in simple clothes.

"You look beautiful," Jack said.

Rose smiled. "Thank you. I don't know why I get so nervous before these dinners. I don't care what those people think. But I don't like knowing they're going to spend the entire evening criticizing me to themselves and then to each other when I'm gone."

"You could stay home with me," he suggested. "I'm gonna make a sandwich and maybe take a walk later. Draw."

"That's tempting, but I promised I'd go," she said. "I can't back out now." She kissed him. "I won't be late," she added. "And you have the telephone number in case you need me?"

"I've got it."

"I don't know why you would," she said. "You're a grown man. You can spend an evening alone. Leaving you may be making me more nervous than seeing these vultures."

"I'll still be there when you get back," he said reassuringly. "I know how you feel, but that's gonna go away when we get used to being together again. Maybe when we get married next week."

"I still can't believe it," she said. She kissed him again. "I have to go. I'll probably be late as it is."

"He's making you walk?"

"We're meeting at his office," she said. "It's not far." She took a deep breath. "Off I go."

…

Rose walked quickly. The previous night's bath had eased the pain, but it hadn't left entirely. She felt it getting stronger; soon, it would engulf her. She breathed slowly and deeply. It wasn't so bad. It wouldn't distract her. Or at least, that's what she told herself. She tried to believe it, but she couldn't convince herself.

Cal's father was there when she arrived. He spoke to her cordially, as if they were old friends. She smiled back, but it was a society girl smile. He never said he disliked her, but she sensed his aversion to her. It was odd. He didn't think she was good enough for Cal, and yet he wanted her to marry him. During his last visit, he had even said so, offering a fortune of her own if she would agree to it. "You know how to handle him," he had said. "And he's mesmerized by you."

The tension was palpable. Cal looked tired and angry. He had the air of a harshly scolded child, but one who's used to it. When he saw her, his eyes lit up. "Rose, are you alright?" he asked quietly, as they settled into the car. Like Jack, he had noticed the subtle changes in her expression, the hints that all was not as it should be.

"I'm fine," she insisted.

No expense had been spared for the dinner; it was even more lavish than Cal's usual meals. His mother, Adeline, and his sister, Julia, went over her dress and hair, silently assessing her, as they pressed her hands and claimed it had been too long since they last met. Neither understood why she hadn't married Cal to begin with, and neither understood why she continued to refuse him. The he hadn't asked her again didn't matter. It was understood that she could have him at any time. Rose as she was now wouldn't have been their first choice—or even their fifth—but that was before Cal's "trouble", as they called it, began. Now, they just wanted to see him settled with a woman who could manage him and not shame the family.

The conversation was polite and pleasant. Any grievances were kept hidden. Rose did her best to appear interested and keep up her end of the discussion, but the pain kept getting worse. She could hardly eat. All she wanted was to go home and soak in a hot bath.

"Rose," Cal said, leaning toward her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

There was no use pretending. She couldn't even if she wanted to. "Would you please excuse me for a moment?" she said. Her legs shook as she stood up; her palms were clammy. She only made it a step before collapsing to the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Rose lay in his bed. Her curls were spread across the pillow. Cal had carried her upstairs himself. He covered her up. He placed the thermometer in her mouth. Checking her temperature seemed like the right thing to do. He called the doctor—his own—and now, all he could do was wait. Dr. Levinson banished him from the boom, so he stood in the hallway. Julia had been sent up for a status report, but Cal waved her away. She flounced back down the stairs, muttering about his inconsiderate he was.

He leapt forward as the door opened. "How is she?" he asked. The doctor's face was grim. Cal's stomach twisted anxiously. It couldn't be that bad, could it? Whatever it was, it couldn't be fatal. She would be fine. Cal was startled by the depth of his worry. Had he ever worried about anyone besides himself before? No-one else had ever been this important to him. He couldn't help silently cursing Jack for taking her, again.

"She's in a great deal of pain," Dr. Levinson said. "I've given her something, but she'll have to come to the hospital. I have some ideas, but I can't be sure until I run a few tests, and I can do a more thorough examination."

"I'll bring her," Cal said. "Right now."

"See that you do."

Cal carried her downstairs and into the waiting car. He wrapped her in the blanket from his bed, cradling her to his chest. Despite the medication, her pain was still obvious. She moaned quietly, her features contorted. He didn't notice his family's questions as they left.

…..

Jack paced the small living room. The clock read 12:15. Where was she? Something had happened; he was sure of it. But what? His heart seemed to beat out of control. She was hurt somewhere. Or worse. Or Cal had some something. Of course he had. It didn't matter what Rose said. He couldn't be trusted. He might have been able to fool her for a while, but eventually, his true nature had to re-emerge.

He lit a cigarette. It was the only thing that might calm him down. He smoked slowly and tried to stop his mind from spinning. "What if she's not home because she doesn't want to be?" But that couldn't be it. She couldn't possibly be enjoying herself so much with Cal that she would stay out half the night, without even calling to let him know she was alright. "She's not like that," he said. "She'd never—she wouldn't make me worry like this on purpose."

But that meant something was wrong. Something was keeping her away. His mind turned back to Cal as the culprit. It made sense. Sure, Rose believed he wasn't really in love with her, that he didn't really want her, but Jack didn't. He had seen the stricken look in Cal's eyes when he found them together. He wanted her, and whether it was real love or not didn't matter. Hadn't he already proven he would do just about anything to get what he wanted?

"Wait." Suddenly remembering the note with Cal's telephone number, Jack went over to the phone. He let it ring until the operator disconnected the call, and then he tried again. No-one answered.  
….

Visiting hours were over, but such rules didn't apply to him. He hadn't had anything of hers to bring, so she wore one of his shirts. Her face was pale, but she appeared to be sleeping peacefully. He had pulled the chair up to the bed; he held her hand in both of his. She would be fine. He had been assured she would be fine. Eventually. She looked so small. Had she always had such doll-like features? He pressed her hand to his lips. He wasn't supposed to kiss her, but he didn't care. Her hands were still smooth. He could smell the lotion she used. Coconut and orchid. It was subtle yet seductive. He wondered if her skin smelled that way all over.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open. "What happened?" she murmured thickly. A warm haze covered the world. She could see Cal, but she had to concentrate to bring him into focus. Her muscles felt heavy. She could hardly move. But the pain was gone.

"You fainted," he said. "At dinner. Do you remember?"

Her eyes were closing. "I couldn't…It hurt so badly…worse than before."

"Before? This has happened more than once? Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded, more concerned than angry.

"I didn't think…the doctors would take me seriously…" It was a struggle to speak. "No reason to worry…no-one to care…"

"I care!" he cried.

"You?" She tried to laugh but couldn't.

He leaned over her, holding tightly to her hands. Their faces were almost touching. "I care what happens to you," he said. "You terrified me tonight. Do you understand that? I thought I was about to lose you, even more than I already have. I can take you being with him." Her eyes were closed now, but he kept talking. "I wish I could just get rid of him and keep you for myself. You know there was a time when I would've done it, and I wouldn't have cared at all. I didn't love you then." Was this love? This concern for her well-being, for her happiness, even at the expense of his own? He didn't want her with Jack, but he wanted her happy. He couldn't bear the thought of her dying. Had there really been a time when he would rather have seen her dead than with someone else?

Cal leaned down and kissed her forehead. Before he could stop himself, he kissed her cheeks and then her lips. It was a gesture of pure affection; he didn't know what else to do with his feelings. He started to move away when she weakly squeezed his hand. Her eyes opened slightly. "Don't leave me," she whispered. "I'm afraid. Please—" Her voice faltered. "Please stay."

Had she heard everything? "I'll stay," he promised.

The clock said 2:30 when she stirred again. Cal couldn't tell if she was awake or asleep. Her eyes remained closed, but she was clearly agitated. "Jack?" He frowned. Why did she have to want him? Couldn't they just be alone together? Cal had actually forgotten about Jack, at least, about any need to let him know what had happened. "Jack?" she murmured again. "Where are you?" She tried to cover her arms. "I'm cold. You aren't holding me."

Cal pulled the blanket up to her chin. Reluctantly, he said, "I'll go get him for you." He kissed her forehead again, lingering this time. Once Jack arrived, he wouldn't get to hold her hand anymore. He wouldn't be the one she asked to stay by her side.

….

The door opened on the first knock. "Rose?" Jack's voice was louder than he intended. Anxiety was written all over his face. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Cal. "Where is she?" he asked.

"She's in the hospital." Cal's tone didn't betray his feelings.

"What?" Jack cried. He stepped outside. "Why?" he said accusingly. "What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Cal said coolly. "She—"

"Why do I have trouble believing that?"

Cal's eyes flashed. "Do you want to see her? Because you're wasting time arguing with me."

They sat as far away from one another as they could. The car moved quickly, gliding through the empty streets, but to Jack it couldn't go fast enough. The tension was palpable. Jack couldn't help feeling that somehow, Cal had made him out to be the villain. It was as if his distrust—perfectly justified as far as he could tell, hadn't Cal done more than enough to earn a little suspicion?—meant he didn't care about Rose. But that was precisely why he didn't trust Cal.

Cal started to explain what he knew about Rose's condition, but Jack didn't want to hear about it from him. He wasn't convinced Cal hadn't done something to cause it. Couldn't he just leave her alone? There were millions of women in the world. Why did he have to be obsessed with this one? Jack gave him a wary look out of the corner of his eye. Cal's head was down, his expression somber. He almost looked worried. His eyes were heavy. Jack realized with a start that neither of them had slept that night. Cal had been up worrying about Rose and taking care of her. Jack wished he hadn't been.

…

"Rose." Jack dropped down next to the bed. Her eyes opened, and she smiled. "Jack," she whispered. "There you are. I was wondering where you were."

He took her hand; her grip was weak. "Of course I'm here," he said. He lightly rubbed his thumb across her cheek. "Oh, honey, what happened?"

"It was too much—" She struggled against the fog. She was so warm and heavy; the sleep began pulling her back under. She wished she could just wake up, but the steady injection of opiates wouldn't let her. Cal watched from the doorway. Jack's presence stopped him from coming in. He didn't want to fight in front of her, especially not now. Why hadn't he acted on his feelings when he had the chance? He'd known he was in love with her a year ago, but it hadn't seemed to matter then. He had been content. He hadn't known just how much she meant to him until now. Until he couldn't have her. He had to keep reminding himself that Jack made her happy. Jack was the one she wanted. But he couldn't help wondering why. After so long, what attachment could still exist between them? Their relationship had been so brief; was their love actually real anymore?

"Don't try to stay awake," Jack said soothingly. "You need to rest." He kissed her hand. "I'll be here. I won't leave you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Her eyes opened, and she turned her head slightly. She tried to speak, but her lips were too heavy. Cal held up his hand. She smiled before falling asleep. He didn't notice Jack watching him over his shoulder. The depth of his feelings was laid bare on his face, and it startled Jack. Cal had been dangerous enough when he simply wanted to own Rose. What would he be like now that he truly loved her?

….

The sun was streaming through the window when Rose woke up. Jack lay next to her, his feet on the floor, his arm around her. His head rested on her pillow. He slept soundly. For a moment, she thought she was in her own bed, but then the fog-laden events of the previous night came rushing back. The blinding pain was now a dull ache. A soft snore broke the silence. She lifted her head to see Cal, slumped in a chair by the door. He was still in his dinner clothes. With a guilty pang, she remembered asking him to stay. Clearly, he had listened. The door opening startled Cal awake, which in turn woke Jack.

Jack rubbed his eyes. "Hey," he said sleepily. He kissed her temple. "When'd you wake up?"

The sound of a throat being cleared kept her from answering. They all turned toward Dr. Levinson, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and grey eyes. "I suppose it would be too much to ask to see the patient alone," he said drily, glancing from Cal to Jack.

"It's alright," Rose said to them both. Jack kissed her hand before getting up. Cal lingered for a moment, as if hoping to be asked to stay. When they were alone, Dr. Levinson said, "And when were you going to tell someone what was going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," he said. His tone was firm but not unkind. "You've been in pain for some time, haven't you? This didn't just begin last night. As it is, I'm worried about how long you've let it go unchecked."

She tried to keep the fear out of her voice. "Let what go?"

"Ovarian cysts."

"So, that's what's wrong with me?" she asked. "I thought it might just be my imagination."

He stared at her. "Just your imagination? My dear girl, you thought you could imagine that much pain?"

"I—Maybe," she said. "I was afraid of what the doctor would say if I went. Is it very serious?"

"Well, we won't know for sure until after the operation—"

"Operation?" she cried.

"Yes, and it's nothing to be afraid of," he said calmly. "It will only take a few hours. We'll remove the cysts, and you'll be amazed at how much better you feel. Of course, they may grow back, and quite frequently, they do. I'll want you coming in for regular check-ups," he added. "No more letting things go until there's a calamity. You nearly scared your—Hockley isn't your husband, is he? I didn't think he was married. He looked like he was last night."

Rose felt slightly ashamed. "He's not," she said. "I'm not either."

He just nodded. "Well, then. You've got some difficult choices to make. Are you in any pain?"

"Yes."

"I'll have a nurse bring you something. In the meantime, I want you to rest."

…..

Jack and Cal tried not to look at each other. Instead, they both looked at Rose, which made her feel more awkward than loved. They both tried to be the first to anticipate her needs, and their competition was obvious. Rose wished she could tell them to stop, but they were both so sincere. Being there mattered so much to them. How could she say anything? She knew Jack wanted her to send Cal away, but she couldn't bring herself to. She told herself she owed it to him to let him stay, but part of her wanted him there. She could only dimly remember what had happened after her collapse, but she did remember the way Cal responded. She remembered how gently he held her, yet how firmly; she remembered the words of comfort he whispered in her ear, the way he held her hand, the feel of his lips on her face. She tried not to think about it, but the memory refused to sink. Most importantly, she remembered that he brought Jack to her.

They each held a hand. For a moment, she wished their lives could be that way, with one of them on each side. Somehow, they could all live together, and everyone could be happy. Neither would be jealous or resentful of the other. She could still have the relationships she loved with both of them. But that was impossible. The tenderness in Cal's eyes made her wish she loved him more. If she had wanted to marry him, even just a week before, if she hadn't wanted him to find Jack, would things be different now? Would they be easier? But Jack appearing hadn't stopped her from loving him; she just hadn't. Except, now, part of her wasn't so sure. But he hadn't been like this before. Or had she simply not noticed? Had the fear of losing her brought his feeling to the surface in a way they had never been? _Stop it!_ she scolded herself. _You love Jack._ Rose's head felt heavy, and she wanted to sleep again, but this time the drugs only numbed the pain. They didn't send her into oblivion.

When they came to take her into surgery, Jack kissed her hand. "I'll be here when it's over," he said.

"I know," she said, smiling. She tilted her head up to receive his kiss.

"I love you," he said. "You're gonna be fine."

"I love you too," she replied.

Jack glared at Cal as he kissed her forehead. Cal looked down into her face, but he didn't say anything.

…..

Jack tried to eat, but his food had no taste. He sat in the kitchen, pulling his sandwich apart. Rose wouldn't be back for at least another four hours, and she wouldn't be awake when she came out. He didn't know how to make the time pass; four hours had never seemed so long. Why hadn't she told him she was sick? Did she think he wouldn't understand? He went over the past few days, searching for signs that he'd missed. Had she really been in that much pain? She hid it so well. "But I should've notice," he said. "I should've been with her last night."

He couldn't believe he actually felt jealous of Cal, but even if he didn't want to admit it, the fact that he'd taken care of her, that he'd been the one holding her hand first, mattered. And she hadn't asked him to leave. If anything, she seemed to want him to stay, but he told himself she just wanted familiar faces around. He didn't blame her; who wouldn't? "She's gotta be scared," he said. "She thinks he's her friend; it doesn't mean she's in love with him. She loves me. She'dve told me if she didn't. She wouldn'tve asked me to stay here; she wouldn't have said she'd marry me." Yet, he couldn't help feeling uneasy.

…..

The house was empty, and Cal was grateful. He couldn't face his family's questions. He showered quickly, resisting the urge to linger under the cold water. It seemed to wash everything away, all the fear, the worry, leaving only the good feelings behind. He thought of the way Rose's face had looked before he left. There had been something in her expression; he was sure of it. She wanted to say something. Maybe now—He shook his head. "Maybe nothing," he said. "Maybe I should let it go." But he knew he wouldn't; he couldn't, not now that he understood how much he loved her.

 _She's with him. She's marrying him._

"So? She was marrying me once too. Things change."

 _She doesn't love you. Not like that. How many ways do you need to be told?_

"What if she just doesn't know it yet?" He peered at his reflection. As usual, not a hair was out of place. His shirt was freshly pressed. The crease in his pants was perfect. He hadn't changed much, if at all, in six years. "It's possible," he said. "I've had two years to get close to her. He's barely had a week."

…..

They arrived at the same time. They stopped outside of her door, each silently challenging the other to go first. "Leave her alone," Jack said. He hadn't intended to; it just came out.

Cal didn't seem fazed. "I'm not bothering her."

"You don't know that," Jack said.

"I know she hadn't said anything," Cal replied. "She hasn't asked me to leave. I'm sure she would have said something if she didn't want me here."

Jack's glare was lethal. " _I'm_ saying something," he said quietly. "I know how she thinks of you, and I don't believe any of it. You're the same as you always were."

"Well, your good opinion does mean so much to me," Cal said drily. "I'm not sure I can recover from this blow. But as you said, she thinks of me differently now. She asked me to stay last night, so I'm staying until she says otherwise."

"Was that while she was delirious or before?"

"Well, she was definitely delirious when she asked for _you_ ," Cal snapped. "But I brought you here anyway."

"After you let me spend half the night worrying," Jack shot back. "I thought she was dead!" He struggled to keep his voice under control. "Were you ever going to tell me what was going on, or did you think keeping me away last night would give you another chance with her? You did didn't you?" he went on. "You thought if you were the only one she saw, she'd want you. She'd be so overcome by how well you took care of her, and she'd forget everything else." Jack's voice dripped with contempt. "It's not gonna work, so just stop. You ruined the only chance you ever had. Not me. You lost her before she ever met me." And with that, Jack went inside.

Rose was asleep. Jack moved the chair up to the bed and took her hand. She looked fine. He breathed a sigh of relief. He knew her condition was serious, but it wasn't as bad as it could be. It wasn't even as bad as the things that had been running through his mind the night before. The doctor had said something about the possibility of her not being able to have children, but that was only a minor detail to Jack. The important thing was that she was alive and well. All he wanted was her; he wanted the time they'd lost and the future.

He frowned as he heard Cal come in. Cal sat down in the chair on the other side of the bed. Not wanting to wake her, Jack stayed silent when Cal picked up her other hand. He wouldn't fight with Cal in front of her. He wouldn't act jealous. That was what Cal wanted him to do. How better to gain even more of her trust?

Cal didn't look at Jack. He fixed his gaze on Rose. She still wore his shirt. He wondered if she knew it was his. He wondered if Jack knew. Cal smiled to himself. If he did know, it must be infuriating. It was almost like touching her. It was more intimate than he'd expected, having a piece of his clothing on her body. At that moment, Cal realized he wasn't simply not giving up; he was going to try and get her back. He wouldn't use schemes or manipulation this time, but he was willing to do whatever else it took. Jack's words echoed in his ears. So, he'd lost Rose before. Now, he would win her back. Then, it had been about saving face and regaining control. He had been more concerned with asserting his mastery over the world, or at least, his corner of it, than with anything else. Now, the stakes were higher, and he knew how little control he really had. He also knew he couldn't be happy without her. She had become essential to him. It had been easy to go on, merely being her friend when there were no rivals in his path. In the back of his mind, he always expected her to fall in love with him, eventually. Part of him was sure she already had. Nothing had changed between them. She had made it clear she still wanted him in her life. He just had to make more of an effort now.

Jack's feelings were written on his face, and for a moment, Cal felt a pang of guilt. Their love for her was the only thing they had in common, and if he couldn't have Rose, then he wanted Jack to. He didn't want her alone. He didn't want her lonely. But ultimately, it was up to her, and Cal wouldn't hesitate if she chose him. Jack hadn't. Why should he?


	6. Chapter 6

_Two Weeks Later_

He rolled over, throwing his arm around her. She sighed and moved closer. She was smooth and warm. He held her tightly. "Rose," he whispered. "I—"

The loud clattering of the alarm shattered Cal's dream. He silenced it without lifting his head. He lay in the middle of the bed. Alone. A few miles away Rose was waking up, and he tried not to think about it. Jack was there, lying next to her. Touching her. Talking to her. Cal scowled into the pillow. Why couldn't he have just remained dead?

…

"Jack, I'm fine," Rose insisted. She lay in the couch, propped against the pillows. There was a blanket over her feet. The table had been piled with books and magazines, knitting projects, blank paper, and pens. A second, slightly smaller table held a glass and pitcher of water, apples, a sandwich, and a plate of cookies. "I'll never be able to eat all of this," she said. "You don't have to come home at lunch."

"And what if you need something?" he asked. "But I'm not here, so you have to wait for the rest of the day?"

"What could I possibly need? You've thought of everything."

"You might be hungrier than you expect. Or cold. Or in pain," he replied. "Anything could happen."

She reached up and took his hand. "Come here," she said. He knelt by the edge of the couch. "Nothing is going to happen," she said reassuringly. "I'll be fine while you're gone. They wouldn't have sent me home if I wasn't fine."

"You still have to heal."

"And that's what I've been trying to do," she said. "I need you to stop worrying so much, though." She place a hand on his cheek. "You look tired. Jack, you need to relax."

"I can't. Rose, you were sick, and you didn't tell me, and I didn't notice. You coulda died. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. You know I am. I didn't think it would get as bad as it did, and I didn't want you to worry. We've been over this. Jack, please."

"I know. I just—I don't want something like that happening again," he said.

"You still trust me, don't you?" she asked.

"I trust you."

…..

Both his and Rose's savings were small. Her rent wasn't expensive, but he knew her medical bills would be. Cal had already offered to pay them, and she had declined, much to Jack's relief. Cal claimed the gesture of a friend, but Jack knew better, even if Rose didn't. He had seen the look in his eyes; Cal was still trying to win her. _But he won't._ Jack jammed his hands into his pockets and walked faster. _Just don't hover over her_ , he told himself. _Don't act jealous._

He was the first one to arrive at work. He'd only gotten the job a few days before. It wasn't much, just a dull job on a loading dock. He was on a crew with five other men, and so far, none of them had really spoken to him. Jack didn't mind. Normally, he was always read to make new friends, but now, he was glad to be left in silence. It felt good to just be in his body, with no thoughts humming in his head. No jealousy. No worry. Just the soothing repetition of his tasks.

Today, however, when his co-workers arrived they were all talking excitedly. Brian, a lanky, dark-haired man in his mid-thirties walked past Jack saying, "They might actually do it this time. I was talking to Ron last night, and he says it's all set. Hockley's not gonna know what hit him."

Jack kept his head down and did his best to listen without being noticed. Paul, a short man who spoke in a deep voice said, "Yeah, but what'll that mean for us? If they win, does that change things here? And if they love, we might all get fired just to make so he can make a point." Paul shook his head. "I'm not sure I like it," he said.

"You have to," Brian argued. "It's not as bad here as at some of the other places, but it could get worse. What's to stop it? That bastard owns half the city. He can keep us all out of work forever if he wants to."

Jack couldn't believe his ears. Did he actually work for Cal? But there was no mention of him anywhere in the company's name. Did Cal know he worked for him? No, Jack decided, he probably didn't even know the names of the people who worked on this level. He owned the company; he profited from it. But he most likely had little to do with it. It was just another jewel in his vast empire.

Jack couldn't overcome the slight feeling of dream that trickled down his spine. If Cal was as bent on getting Rose back as he seemed, what would happen if he found out Jack was an employee? He didn't think Cal would do anything to hurt him. That would upset Rose too much. But he could find other ways to make Jack's life miserable. _He might try to drive me away, out of the city. Away from her._

…

After the third knock, and still no answer, Cal went through the unlocked door. "Rose?" he called. The couch was empty, but evidence of her recent occupation was still all around it. "Rose?" he called again, moving further into the room. He rounded the corner and looked into the kitchen. The water was running into a pitcher, and she was slicing a lemon. "Why didn't you answer?" he asked. "And what are you doing?"

She shut off the water and lifted the full pitcher from the sink. Dropping a handful of ice cubes into it, she said, "I needed more water." She added the lemon slices. "Don't tell Jack I was up, alright?"

"I won't. Let me carry that," he offered, taking the pitcher from her hands.

"I can manage."

"But you shouldn't," he reminded her. "You should be resting."

"You sound like Jack," she said, resuming her former position on the couch.

Cal scowled. "Please, don't ever say that, Rose."

"Can't you two learn to get along?"

Cal moved a chair closer and sat down. "I'm trying," he said. "It's difficult. He's so irritating. He's like a fly buzzing around my head."

"And you aren't irritating?"

"You think I am?" he asked.

"You can be. But I still find ways to be your friend."

 _Friend._ The word echoed in his ears. "So, how are you doing?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

"Much better. I'm supposed to rest and avoid any exertion, but the doctor says I'm healing well. The stitches should come out next week."

"Well, that's good news," Cal replied. "Do they think you'll have any more problems?"

"It's too soon to tell. They say there's a chance I will, but we won't know for sure unless it happens again," she explained.

"At which time you will tell someone. You won't just ignore it again?"

"Not you too," she sighed. "I've heard this from the doctor twice and from Jack at least half a dozen times."

"So, there is something we can agree on," Cal said. "If you wouldn't tell me, why not tell him? He's the one you trust."

"I trust you," she said. "Just in a different way. I had to learn to trust you, but with Jack, it was—" She searched for the right word. "Immediate. Natural. I just knew I could."

"And you've never felt that way with me," he said grimly.

"Cal, even you have to admit, you don't radiate warmth," she said gently.

"That doesn't mean I'm incapable of warmth," he said. "You've met my family. You've lived in that world. We both know it doesn't encourage warmth, among other things."

"How have things been going with your family?" she asked, eager to change the subject.

"Mother and Julie left yesterday, but they may return, especially if my father doesn't leave soon." Cal's body was tense. "He thinks I haven't been running the business properly, that I've been distracted and letting things slip through the cracks."

"Have you?"

"No," he said firmly. "I know what I'm doing. Rose, I know you don't think it's worthwhile, but I'm good at business. I'm good at making deals and finding promising investments—I'm brilliant at it."

"And at making money."

He grinned. "Yes, and at making money. Does that make me a bad person? Because my gift belongs in the boardroom room and not an art room?"

"Don't compare yourself to Jack," she said.

"Why not? You compare us."

"Not anymore," she said. "Not for a long time. You're Cal, and he's Jack. You're two very different but equally wonderful people."

Cal looked at his hands. "Then why do you love him and not me?" He couldn't stop the words from coming out.

His vulnerability surprised her. "What?"

"Why him? After all this time, why is it still him?"

"I don't know," she answered slowly. "He—There's something in me or in him, or maybe it's both of us, something that pulls me toward him. He makes me happy, but it's more than that. He sees me, and I see him. We're the same; we've been equals, from the moment we first met. I trusted him before I knew his name."

…

Nathan was already in his office when Cal arrived. He sat at Cal's desk, bent over a stack of papers. Without looking up, he said, "Caledon, how good of you to join us."

Cal sat in the chair on the other side of the desk. "Father. Making yourself at home, I see."

"Well, it is my business, in case you've forgotten."

Cal's tone was flat. "No, I haven't," he said.

"From the way you've been handling things," Nathan said, "I'm not so sure. Why, exactly, haven't you taken care of these agitators?" He held up a hand. "Wait. Don't tell me. You've been too busy running after that girl. Yes, now I understand." Cal frowned but didn't respond. "Tell me," Nathan went on. "Have you at least made some progress, or does she still intend to marry that artist fellow, the one she left you for the first time?"

Cal breathed slowly and deeply. Since the War, he'd learned how to keep his temper under control, but his father brought out all of his worse instincts. Had anyone else dared speak to him that way, Cal wouldn't have bothered maintaining control. But his father wasn't just anyone. "Yes," he said. "She still intends to marry him."

Nathan looked up at him. "You expect me to believe you want this girl, that you _love_ this girl, and yet, you sit there doing nothing while she goes off with another man? Who offered her a job? Who spent the past two years pursuing her? Who got her the best medical care in the state? Certainly not him."

"I didn't do those things so she would marry me," Cal said. "I did them—"

"Out of the goodness of your heart?" Nathan scoffed.

"Would that be so difficult to believe?"

"You're my son. I taught you better than that," Nathan said. "What do you get out of all this? How does spending all this time with her, offering all this help, benefit you?" Without waiting for a reply he said, "It doesn't. But if you want to waste your time, go ahead, but stop letting it interfere with the business. Moon after her on your time, not mine. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, what are you going to do about these agitators?"

…

Rose lay on the couch, her knitting on her lap, forgotten. The clock read five-thirty. Jack would be home any minute. She lightly touched the bandage on her middle, picturing the stitches that held her together. In her mind, they were thick; the thread was black and ugly. Despite their thickness, they could split at any moment; the slightest exertion, and she would come apart. The seam could come undone, and then where would she be? It was a terrifying thought. Rose hated living in fear even more than the idea of coming apart. When she thought about her illness, she felt a keen sense of betrayal. Why had her body done this to her? For that matter, why had life done this to her—and for the second time? Here she was, once again caught in an untenable position, forced to choose between the same two men. Of course, the choice was obvious; it had been obvious before. She had just had trouble accepting it. Rose sighed. It was absurd that Cal, of all people, could make her feel guilty, but he'd managed it.  
….

"I can help."

"No," Jack said. "Stay here. You can help by not hurting yourself."

Sighing, Rose leaned back against the pillows. "I can't wait for the stitches to come out."

He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry for sounding like your father."

She laughed. "You sound nothing like my father. He wouldn't have even been in the room with me if I were sick."

"Well, that's horrible."

Rose shrugged. "It's just how things were in my family; it's how they are in some families. My mother sat with me sometimes, but he never did. I didn't see him very much."

Later, as they ate, Jack asked, "Do you miss her?"

"Who? My mother?"

"Yeah."

'Sometimes," she said after a moment. "But I think I miss the relationship I didn't have with her more than the one I did. Do you know what I mean?"

"I think I do."

"Do you miss your family?" she asked. The moment it took for him to answer was a tense one.

"Yes," he said. "Not all the time, but I miss them." He dropped his eyes.

"Well," she said, "We're certainly cheerful tonight."

"I brought it up."

Their eyes met across the table, and they shared a smile. "Do you think you'll ever go back there?" she asked.

"I never really thought about it. Would you go with me if I did?"

"Of course. I'd love to see where you grew up," she answered.

"No, you really wouldn't. There's nothin to it. I doubt if anything we had is still there. See, I own the land now, but with no-one around to keep it up—" He shrugged. "It's just overgrown fields now. Or the bank declared me dead and took it back."

"Does that bother you?"

"A little, I guess. There were times when I'd think, well, I can always go home, but then I'd remember there's no-one there, so it's not really home anymore. Without my folks, it may as well be any other town and any other land."

'But you have the memories."

Jack smiled to himself. "Yeah, I've got those. And they're enough. For now." He reached across the table and took her hand. He lightly stroked her palm with his thumb. "I know I've been unfair, about you and Cal being friends, but—"

"No, I'm not sure you have been," she said. "I've been unfair. Or maybe we both have. I expected the two of you to just accept one another and get along, when I knew how he felt. But I asked him to do it anyway, and I'm not sure I should have."

"But you said he wasn't really in love with you."

"I'm still not convinced he is, but he thinks he is, and I suppose that's what matters," she said.

"What brought this on?"

"He came by this morning," she replied.

"Of course he did," Jack said.

"Jack, please, let's not fight over this."

"I'm sorry. I don't want to fight," he said. "I just—I don't trust him. Rose, I know you do, and I'm trying to see why. He took care of you when you needed it, and I'm grateful for that. Really, I am. You don't know how much I hate feeling indebted to him, and feeling that way makes it worse, because I know he still wants you."

"But I don't want him," she pointed out. "Shouldn't that be enough?" She put her free hand over his.

"With anyone else, it would be. But we both know what he's capable of, and I know you say he's changed, and alright, I wasn't here. I didn't see it. I shouldn't doubt you. I just—I can't stop remembering what he did. To get you. To keep you. I think about what might happen if he gets tired of waiting for you to decide you want him on your own."

"Jack, I've made my feelings clear to him," she said. "Friendship is all he can ever have with me."

"When he changed, did he learn to take no for an answer?"

…..

The next morning they were greeted by hot rain. Jack pressed his face into the pillow, glad it wasn't a workday. He reached out for Rose, but her side of the bed was empty. He lifted his head; she was gone. "Rose?" he called. He grabbed his pants off the floor and leapt into them. The bathroom was empty. He went down the hall, afraid of what he might find.

She stood in front of the window, watching the rain. "There you are," he said, going over to her. He puts his arms around her, carefully avoiding her would. "What're you doing up?" he asked.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "And I couldn't stay in bed any longer."

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

She turned to face him. "You looked so peaceful. I couldn't disturb you. And you need to get some rest."

"I'm fine," he said.

"You haven't been sleeping well. We share the bed; I'm right there while you toss and turn."

"I guess you are."

"Do you think we should leave?" she asked.

The question caught him off-guard. "What? Why would you ask that?"

"I've been thinking, and I wondered if perhaps it wouldn't be easier for us to start our life together somewhere new, somewhere that has no past entanglements."

"We can if that's what you want," he said.

"Is it what you want?" she asked.

"Rose, I want you. I don't care where we are. I'll get on another sinking ship if you go with me."

She laughed. "I wouldn't ask you to do anything quite so drastic."

"Somethin's bothering you," he said. "This didn't just come out of nowhere. It's Cal, isn't it? You're still worried about how he feels. Rose, if you want away from him—"

"I don't, not exactly," she said. "He hasn't done anything wrong. It's just the way he makes me feel now, as if I'm doing something wrong. I know I'm not," she went on, before he could interrupt. "And I told him that. He tried to make me feel guilty when he found out about you, and I wouldn't let him. I knew it was just his pride and sense of entitlement talking, but now, his feelings seem real, and the way he looks at me—he's in pain."

"Rose, that's not your fault," Jack said. "You can't make yourself be in love with him, and you don't owe him a relationship. You don't even owe me one. If you'd told me your feelings had changed, I would've understood. I wouldn't be happy. It's probably break my heart all over again, but I'd understand. I'd walk away and leave you in peace. If you wanted him, I'd give you my blessing, as long as he loved you the way I love you."

"You have to stop being so good to me," she said. "I've been so selfish. Worrying about how Cal feels. Keeping things from you. I just want things to be peaceful. I want us to all be happy, but maybe that isn't possible."

Jack wanted to tell her to not only stop worrying about Cal's feelings but to also stop seeing him. But he didn't. He'd meant it when he said he'd step aside if Cal was the one she wanted, but he refused to aid Cal in his quest to get her back. "When you get better," he said. 'We can leave, if that's what you want."

"I think it is."


	7. Chapter 7

Rose spread her arms out and danced in a circle. The sun was hidden behind thick, dark clouds, but to her, it was a beautiful day. Jack watched, enjoying her happiness. She looped her arm through his. "Come on," she urged, breaking into a skip. He shook his head, but grinning, skipped alongside her. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?" she said, when they stopped.

"No. I think you're feeling a lot better, and I'm glad."

"I haven't felt this good in months. Jack, I didn't realize how awful I felt until now. I was in pain so often it became just another part of my day, something to be gotten through. There were times when I wasn't even sure it was real, and…and I feel so stupid for letting it get so bad. I know the reasons, but I don't actually know why I did. Does that make sense? The reasons I gave myself all sound so absurd now."

Jack though for a moment. "Yeah, it does. Maybe you thought you deserved it," he suggested. "Maybe you were punishing yourself for something without realizing it."

Rose slipped her hand into his. "It's strange," she said. "But I wasn't happy these past few years, and yet, I was. There were things I enjoyed, people I liked; it's all been rather pleasant, but I haven't been _happy_. Do you know what I mean?" She went on before he could answer. "I didn't realize it until we met again. Nothing went below the surface. Cal managed to sometimes, but I think that was because we had a history together. There was a rapport already there, thin as it was a times. No-one else could push me as far as he did. Actually, he was a little like you."

Jack managed to hide his displeasure at talking about Cal. They hadn't seen him in nearly a week, but he knew he would be back, eventually. He'd called once to see how Rose was doing. Jack told himself Cal didn't matter. They were getting married soon, and more importantly, they had plans to leave in a couple of months. "Like me?" he said. "I didn't think that was possible."

"Neither did I, but the way he spoke to me reminded me of you at times. We pushed each other to be honest. You do that." Rose saw the tension in his shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said. "I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have brought him up."

"No, it's fine. You can say anything you want, Rose. I'm just glad I don't have to see him."

"You don't mind I'm going to be working at his office?" she asked. "I wouldn't except he offered, and it saves a week of looking for a job. The sooner I go back to work, the sooner we can save enough to leave."

"I don't mind," he said. "I don't think anything is going to happen between you two." That didn't mean he didn't think Cal would try to make something happen, but he trusted Rose too much to doubt her.

They ate dinner in a small French restaurant. As he poured wine into her glass, Jack said, "I know we're not supposed to be spending much money now, but we haven't done anything together outside your apartment yet."

Her tone was mischievous. "I was under the impression we do plenty there," she said. A shadow crossed her face. "Or we did, before…"

"I never got to really tell you about Paris," he said, eager to change the subject.

"How long were you there?"

"Eight months. It was after I went to Italy. Fabrizo was with me." A faraway look came into his eyes. He hadn't thought about Fabrizo in years; the memory of his friend flashed in front of him, clear as a new photograph. It left him feeling guilty. What other friends had he forgotten along the way? The only person he could never fully put out of his mind was Rose. He had tried, but she always found her way back. Now, he wondered if Fate hadn't been trying to tell him something.

"Are you alright, Jack?" Rose asked gently.

He forced a quick smile. "I'm fine. Uh, what was I saying? Right. Paris. So, when we first got there we stayed at what we thought was a hotel, and in a way I guess it was, but really it was—"

"I think I know what it was," she said. "Is that where you met the women in your drawings?"

"A few of them. Some of them loved being drawn," he said thoughtfully. "Some wanted their own copies to keep. I remember one girl, Nathalie, told me she'd been called beautiful by dozens of men, but being drawn made her feel beautiful for the first time. I wondered what that was like, being told something nice about yourself but not believing it, being so close to other people all the time but not really. She made me sad. I always gave her the drawings."

"That was sweet," Rose said. He shrugged. "It was," she insisted. "You made that girl happy, even if it was in a small way. I remember how it felt to be drawn by you. It's an intense experience. I've never had another like it."

"Never?"

Rose shook her head. "Sometimes, when you look at me, I get a similar feeling. I don't think you realize you're doing it, though."

Jack fixed his gaze on her. "Is it happening now?"

Rose kept her eyes on his and tried to keep a straight face, but after about a minute they were both giggling. "No," she said. "Tell me more?"

…..

They strolled along the pier. Music played, and the crowd moved around them. The air smelled of popcorn, candy, and the ocean. "We're actually here," Rose said. She looked over at him. "Just the way you said."

"Told you we'd do it."

"Well, I've had the cheap beer they serve here, and I'm sorry, but I'm not up for that tonight," she said.

"Neither am I. And it's too late to ride horses."

"We could go on the roller coaster," she said hopefully.

"You want to?"

Rose nodded. "I do if you do. Maybe not until we throw up, though I'm not sure it would take long for me. I threw up the only time I rode it."

"You've only been on it once?" he said, shocked. "Rose, you've lived here for years."

"I have?" she gasped. "I had no idea!" She laughed as he rolled his eyes.

"Alright. Be that way," he said, not unpleasantly. "But I can't believe you've only gone on it once."

"It wasn't much fun by myself. I enjoyed it, but it wasn't the way I imagined it would be. Isn't that silly?"

"No," he said. "It's not."

Rose clutched his hand as the car slowly climbed the hill. She tried to breathe normally but couldn't. "You alright?" he asked. She nodded. Rose screamed as they plunged toward the ground. Jack let out a yell of his own as they whipped around a corner before going down again. By the time it was over, Rose was laughing uncontrollably.

"Let's do it again," she said.

"Yeah? You sure you can handle it?"

"Can you? I heard that scream," she teased.

"It's a good roller coaster," he replied. "It's the only one I've ever been on, but it's a good one."

They were finishing their second ride when Cal saw them. They didn't notice him. They were both laughing now. Jack's arm was around Rose; she was pressed against him. She looked happier than Cal had ever seen her. He watched them begin walking. They were too far away for him to hear what they said, but he saw them stop, and oblivious to the crowd, Jack kissed her. Cal felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. Hearing her say she loved Jack was one thing; actually seeing it was another. "That should be me," he said.

…..

The air around them hummed as they walked home. It was difficult to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Finally, they made it. They reached for each other as soon as the door closed. They stumbled into the bedroom. The bed let out a squeak of protest as they fell onto it. Jack laughed. For a moment, they looked at each other. "You're so beautiful," she said.

"I've never been told that before."

She traced the outline of his jaw. "But you are." She kissed his throat, pushing him onto his back. She moved her lips over his neck, biting gently. "Rose," he sighed.

She gazed down into his eyes. "Yes?" His cheeks were flushed. Slowly, she began unbuttoning his shirt. "Tell me what you want, Jack."

"You."

…..

Rose cried out, pressing her nails into his back. Their faces were almost touching. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, concerned.

"No," she said. She kissed him. "Why would you think that?"

"You—your illness—"

"Jack, I'm fine," she said. She kissed him again, more deeply this time. "Don't worry."

….

Jack lightly traced stars on her back. He didn't understand how a person could be as soft as she was. Sometimes he wondered of his hands felt rough to her, but she never complained. She lay across him, her arm tightly holding him. She had fallen asleep easily, but he couldn't get his mind to settle down. They were getting married in two weeks. It felt more like two years. He wanted to just go and do it already, but they had agreed to wait and make it a special day, although how it could possibly get any more special, he didn't know. That was the day they should ride horses, he decided. After the ceremony, they would ride down the beach. They would go dancing, and he would draw her. If he tried, he could do a sketch of the two of them. He wasn't great at drawing himself, but he had time to practice.

Rose whimpered in her sleep. He gave her a squeeze. "It's alright, Rose," he whispered. "You're safe. I've got you. I'll always have you."

…..

Rose yawned. Lazily, she stretched before settling back on her pillow. Jack slept next to her, his hand resting on her stomach. She brushed his hair back and studied his face a moment before getting up.

Jack awoke to the smell of bacon frying. His stomach rumbled. Rubbing his eyes, he stepped into his pants and made his way to the kitchen. "You're up early," he said. Rose was dressed; her damp hair hung freely down her back.

"Early?" she said. "It's nearly eleven."

"Is it? Well, we were up late." He kissed her cheek.

"Go get dressed," she said smiling. "Breakfast is almost ready."

They ate ravenously, not pausing to speak until they finished. "This is how it'll be, isn't it?" he said, sipping his coffee.

"What do you mean?"

"Us together," he said. "Quiet and peaceful. Happy."

"Yes. Only I won't always make breakfast."

"I can make Swedish pancakes," he said.

….

They lay on the bed, half-asleep. The air that came through the window was thick with rain yet to fall, and the darkness of the day combined with their full stomachs lulled them into stillness. This was how Jack thought every Sunday should be. From the right angle he could see out the window. Clouds slowly rolled by, growing darker as they went. "It's gonna storm," he said.

"Good. Maybe we'll get some cooler weather." Rose yawned. "We shouldn't spend the whole day lying here."

"No reason not to."

"It will make getting up tomorrow that much harder," she said. She stretched her legs until they popper. "Come on," she said, tugging on his foot.

"What're we gonna do?"

Rose crossed her arms over her chest and looked around the room. "If we're really leaving, I need to go over this place and figure out what to keep."

"You'd get rid of your things?"

"I'll have to," she said. "We can't afford to keep the apartment. I wish we could, but I don't see how it would work."

"You love it here, don't you?" he said.

"I do. I've lived here nearly eight years. Living anywhere else will be strange at first, but I'm glad we're going. I've wanted to travel but never did."

"Why not?"

She opened the closet and began looking through the clothes. "I don't know," she answered. She held up a blue dress and studied herself in the mirror. "There was always a reason not to. I didn't have enough money. I had a new job I liked. And then Cal arrived…" She trailed off.

"Keep that one," he said.

"You think I should? It's old."

"It's a great color for you. I bet you're gorgeous in it"

"I never saw it that but, if you say so," she said. "I'll keep it." She turned back to the closet. "I do have to get rid of some of these. We can't travel with two suitcases and trunk just for my things."

"Oh, is that all?" he teased. "I figured you'd have more than that."

"Once I would have. Jack, I had so many clothes, more than I could ever wear. I think that's why we were always changing, to justify our bloated wardrobes." Plucking another dress from the rack she added, "But I did love some of them. Are you disappointed in my weakness for adornment?"

Jack shook his head. "No."

"They're just clothes."

"They make you happy," he said. "You could say the same thing about my drawings. And clothes can be kinda like art, well, yours anyway."

"Why don't I do this another time?" she said. "Why don't we go do something?"

"I'll brave the rain if you will."

…..

They were leaving the movie theater when they ran into Ted. "Jack!" he cried happily. "Just the guy I've been wanting to see."

"Yeah, sure," Jack hoked. "Ted, this is Rose, my fiancée."

Rose smiled politely. "Hello. Jack's told me a little about you."

Ted stared at her as they shook hands. "He told me almost nothing about you," he said. "Definitely not that you were this lovely."

"He likes to keep that a secret," she said. "He's afraid I'll run away with someone else."

"He should be," Ted said. "Jack, listen, I really do want to talk to you. Can you come by the office tomorrow? After work? I swear, it'll just take a minute."

"I don't know—" Jack began.

"Just a minute," Ted pressed.

"Alright," Jack said. "For a minute. But only 'cause we're friends."

Ted clapped him on the back. "I knew you'd come through."

"I haven't come through."

When they were out of earshot, Rose asked, "What does he want?"

"He wants me to work with him. I was gonna, but then I ran into you," Jack replied. "So, I told him I couldn't."

"Why?"

"I need a job that paid every week and wasn't so dangerous. He's a labor organizer. I agree with what he's trying to do, but we can't get married if I'm out getting arrested or getting caught up in riots," he said.

…..

The officers were bigger and grander than those at Rose's old job, but she wasn't intimidated. It wasn't that different from her previous two jobs, though she hated having to get to know people all over again. It didn't take long to settle in, and by lunch, she was beginning to remember names. She propped a book against her typewriter and unwrapped a sandwich for lunch. She looked up at the sound of Cal's knock. "I didn't expect to see you," she said.

"I came to see how things were going," he said. "And to ask if you'd like to have lunch." He appeared relaxed; the pain of their last meeting was gone.

"I brought a lunch with me," she said apologetically. Part of her was glad she had. She didn't want to turn down his offer, but she knew Jack wouldn't want her to accept it. She hated having to make either of them unhappy.

"Is that all you have?" he said, eying her small sandwich. "That would barely feed a child. You need to be building your strength back up. Come on," he said. "Let me take you for an actual meal."

"I can't."

"Why? Is Jack jealous?"

"No," she said. "You've done too much for me already. I can't let you buy my meals too."

"There was a time when you didn't mind that. We ate together often."

"We traded the cost," she reminded him. "You didn't pay every time."

"So, you'll pay next time." He gave her a pleading look. "Aren't we still friends, Rose?"

"We are. Alright, I'll go. But nothing expensive."

…..

Rose scanned the prices on the menus. "Is this your idea of cheap?" she asked drily.

"It isn't my idea of expensive."

"I didn't know you thought _anything_ was expensive."

"Then you shouldn't have trusted me to pick a cheap place," he said with a hint of a smile.

Rose smiled and shook her head. "I guess I walked into that."

"You know don't have to worry about the cost," he said.

"Because you have more money than Midas? I'm well aware of that, but I don't like the imbalance it creates between us. When it's my turn to pay, all I'll be able to afford is something from a diner, which you hate going to."

"I'd go anywhere with you," he said somberly. He felt compelled to say it; she needed to know. "And that's not why you shouldn't care. You shouldn't care because I'd give you anything you wanted."

"Cal—"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said that. I know. Forget I did. Please?"

"That's perhaps the third time I've heard you use the word please," she said, indicating the matter was dropped.

"Yes, sometimes it's helpful, though mostly with people like you, who don't value money properly."

"That's why I don't have any," she said.

"Rose, do you need—"

"I'm fine. Giving me a job was more than enough help. Jack's working, and we're saving our money." She hesitated. "We're planning to leave in a few months."

Cal was startled. She couldn't leave. He couldn't take her away completely. "Why?"

"You know I've been wanting to travel, but I've been putting it off. Jack's always getting restless. We talked about traveling together, back then," she said. "So, we're going to."

"I see."

"How are things with your father?" she asked.

"He finally left. He has no confidence in me, and he doesn't understand why I can't be more like I was before. I finally came up with some plans for the business that satisfied him, so I won't have to see him again for at least another six months." Cal's eyes shone with bitterness.

"I'm sorry," Rose said.

"It's not something you should be sorry about. I don't care anymore," he said. But she knew he secretly did.

…..

Jack made his way through the busy office. He found Ted at the far end, instructing a small group. When he saw Jack he waved them away." Hey," he said. "Glad you could make it."

"I figured I owed you," Jack answered. "So, what's going on?"

"That company you're working for, the bottling place-

"How do you know that?" Jack interrupted.

"I have my way. Look have you heard about the unhappiness with the workers?"

"Yeah, a little," Jack said cautiously. "Nothing too unusual, though."

"Did you know another company owned by the same guy is organizing something big?"

"Might've heard something," Jack said.

"Well, you already knew we're going after Hockley. We've been planning this for months. He owns practically the whole city, and people are damned tired of it and of the barbaric conditions he makes them work in."

"What's this got to do with me?" Jack asked, somewhat impatiently.

"He owns the company you work for," Ted said. "All I want is for you let me know what you hear, just as a favor, from one friend to another."

"I'll think about it."

Jack walked briskly, whistling as he went. Ted's intentions were good, but he didn't believe things would go as smoothly as he claimed. In fact, he wasn't sure Ted didn't know that already but was choosing to ignore it. He was an ideologue, committed to the greater good. Jack respected that, and once he might have been tempted to join in, but not now. Now, he was glad to be safely out of it.

He didn't realize he was being followed. The men following him didn't know he wasn't involved, and they wouldn't have believed him if he told them. They, along with over a dozen others, had been hired to stop whatever insurrection was brewing. Anyone seen with any of the organizers was a target, as was anyone connected with them. They watched Jack go into the apartment. A few minutes later, they saw Rose arrive. It was best, they had learned, to start with the family. He might not care so much if they went after him; sometimes, it just made them more determined. But few men defied threats to their wives.


	8. Chapter 8

Rose grinned as Jack kissed her shoulder. She kept her eyes closed, pressing her face into the pillow. It was past time to get up; the alarm must have been turned off. Jack had done it. She always set the alarm, even on weekends, and got up at the same time each day. Or she had before his arrival. Staying in bed for a few extra hours was something she never even considered before Jack, though if things were left up to him, they would spend at least a whole day in bed. She felt the heavy drowsiness that comes from not being tired enough but still falling asleep anyway begin overtaking her. Jack held her tightly, his hand pressed to her middle; his face rested against her neck. His breath was warm on her skin. She could tell he was dozing. Yawning, she moved to get up, but Jack held her fast. "Don't," he murmured.

"We have to get up."

"Why? It's Saturday. Nowhere we hafta go."

"All the same, we can't just lie around in bed all day," she said. "There's plenty we could be doing. Plenty we should be doing."

With a groan, he loosened his grip. "One of these days, I'll get you to appreciate staying in bed."

Rose laughed and kissed his hair. "Sure you will, mon cheri."

He leaned on his elbow. "What're we supposed to be doing today/"

"Well, I thought I would get some work done on my closet. I can't keep putting it off. There's the shopping. We're nearly out of everything," she replied. "I think we have just enough for breakfast, but that's about it. The whole place could use a good dusting. I need to finish that sweater I've been working on. I'm tired of just doing a single row at a time and never getting anywhere. All it would take to finish is a couple of hours."

"And what'll I be doing while you do all of that?" he asked, laughter gleaming in his eyes.

"Oh, you'll be helping me," she said good-humoredly. "Having someone alone to help carry things home is my favorite thing about you being here." She finished pinning up her hair.

He slipped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. She let herself lean against him, enjoying the way it felt to be held. There as such an air of stability about him, as if, no matter what happened, she would always be able to turn to him.

"I'm glad I make things easier," he said. His tone was light, almost joking, but she knew he was serious, and she was grateful. He did make things easier, and not just because he helped with the chores. Having him there each day made living easier. She fell asleep with no trouble now, and there were no nightmares, no dreams that left her in tears. She looked forward to every day, eager to see what it held. That came from him. His sheer delight in being alive was contagious, and it made her happy to be alive in a way she hadn't been before. After the first wave of grief over his death subsided, she had thrown herself into each day, determined to make every second count, to find a new adventure around every corner. But it didn't last. She tried, but it just wasn't the same by herself. She felt ashamed and hoped, wherever he was, he didn't feel the same way. But without someone to share it with, her experiences felt empty. Rose wasn't the sort of person who could find joy in solitude, and the few friends she made were really more acquaintances than friends. She couldn't talk to them about her feelings, her dreams, her past. She tried, but it just didn't feel right.

But she had been able to talk to Cal. Despite everything, they felt comfortable together, after the initial shock wore off. It was as if they had pushed each other so far there was nowhere left to go, so they had to come back together and make peace. Neither had the energy to be angry anymore. It seemed wrong to think of Cal while being held by Jack, no matter what the reason, so she shook out the thoughts and gave his hands a squeeze. "You really do, Jack."

They played records while they cleaned. Rose's collection was small but carefully selected. They tackled the dusting together. Jack pulled her into a dance each time he got near her. Rose laughed as he spun her. Deftly, he put his arm around her waist, bending her down into a dip. He kissed her before lifting her back up. "That's it," she said, putting her rag in his hand. "You finish this. I'm going to work on my closet."

The floor was soon littered with clothes, all in piles Rose mentally marked "Keep", "Don't Keep", and "Maybe." She stood in the middle of the mess, regretting that she had ever begun, when she heard the opening notes of the song. It was a record she rarely played; it was kept behind the others, and she had bought it impulsively. It had taken two months for her to even unwrap it, and another six for her to actually listen to it. Her heart skipped a beat, and she wasn't sure how she felt, until Jack appeared in the doorway, smiling warmly, his hand held out. "Dance with me?" he asked.

….

"You've got a lotta clothes," he said, wading through the piled.

"Is that disapproval I hear?"

"No. I've just never had so many. It's not that much for you, though, I guess. But how many ways are there to make things for men? You get all the variety," he said.

"There are lots of different ways. I almost became a seamstress, you know." A thoughtful look came into her eyes. "I might have been good at it."

"I didn't know you sewed."

"Oh yes. My mother taught me herself. She believed it was important for young girls to have certain practical skills, even if they never actually had to use them," Rose explained. "It might impress my future husband if I could sew a button back on his shirt or stitch up a tear in his clothes. Of course, any suitable husband would never want me to do such things."

"Of course. Why let your wife do out of affection what you can pay someone else to do?" Jack said drily.

"Exactly," she said, raising her eyebrow meaningfully. She began folding the clothes, stacking them neatly. "I made most of these," she went on. "That's how I came to have so many. It was cheaper than buying new ones already made or having someone else do it. And I liked making them. It gave me something to do in the evenings, besides read or try and make conversation in hopes of gaining a friend. And it feels nice to create something, to hold pieces of cloth in your hands one minute and the next be holding a dress."

"That's sort of how I feel about drawing," he said. "I start with just a blank sheet of paper and a pencil, and before I know what's happened I've got a whole drawing, a moment of life or a dream preserved forever."

"I've never spoken about this to anyone else."

"Neither have I," he said.

In unison they said, "They wouldn't understand." They laughed.

"I should have known you would," she added. "Sometimes—no."

"What?"

"No. It's silly. I—"

"You just said I understand," he reminded her. "And you want to tell me, or you wouldn'tve brought it up."

"Sometimes I want to make clothes, to make a career out of sewing," she said. "I want to have my own shop and design things." She ducked her head. "It's rather silly. It's certainly no grand dream, nothing like any of yours."

"But if it's what you want to do, then it's the best dream there is," he said.

"Do you really believe that?"

"Rose, you know how many people have laughed at me for drawing? For wishing I could make a living at it? For living the way I do? But I don't let that stop me. I'm happy. My dream was to get out and see the world, to try and be an artist," he said. "And I've done that. You can't worry about what other people're gonna say. You just have to do what makes you happy. I thought you knew that, honey."

"It's easy to forget." She met his gaze. "So, you think I should try it?"

"Yeah," he said encouragingly. "Why not?"

'Well, I don't have the money, and—"

"So?"

"What do mean, 'so'?" she said. "Jack, I can't just make something like that happen without money. Even you have to admit it's necessary sometimes."

"Alright. I see your point. It probably costs more to make a dress than it does to get a box of paper," he said. "And those tend to last me a while. But you can get the money if you really want to. C'mon, Rose, you know you can do anything. You're smart, and you obviously know what you're doing, even if all I'm always trying to take off the dresses you make," he added with a mischievous grin.

"Perhaps that means I don't do such a good job," she replied with a grin of her own.

"Oh, it does."

Rose ran her hands over the dress in her lap. "Do you honestly think I could make a living at this?" Her eyes lit up with the possibilities. No more working in stuffy offices. No more fetching coffee. No more answering to a dozen bosses, half of whom just wants an excuse to stare at her. The thought of being in charge of what she did each day, of how much she made, was thrilling. It was a thought she hadn't allowed herself to have. Just living on her own, free and unattached, was more than she had ever thought she would have.

"Yes. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it," he answered. "You should do it, Rose. I could even help somehow."

"Be my model?" she joked. "Or my dressmaker's dummy?"

"My figure might be disappointing. But you'd need someone to sketch the designs, wouldn't you? And you make clothes from patterns. Someone's gotta draw those out, don't they?"

"Yes, I suppose they do," she said. "It isn't really drawing, though; it's more like tracing outlines. Can you imagine the two of us in business together?"

"Doesn't sound any crazier than the two of us getting married."

"No, I guess it doesn't. Would we still leave?" she asked.

"If that's what you want. Lots of places need good dressmakers," he answered. "That could be what we do. Travel around, you amaze people with the stunning clothes you can make, and I amaze them with my drawings. We'll be a team of artists, and we'll get famous."

"Oh, you want to be famous?" she teased. "I had no idea. I thought you only drew for the love of it."

"I'm not sayin I'd turn it down. I don't need it, but it would be nice to have my work remembered. Especially if that's all I have to show for my life."

"I see what you mean. There's nothing wrong with wanting recognition for your talents," she said. She thought for a moment, letting the soft fabric move through her fingers. If anyone else had suggested it, she would have dismissed them immediately. It was an absurd dream, a crazy fantasy that would never work, and she would have to be crazy herself to even consider it. Neither of them jobs were ideal, but they were reliable. They brought in money each week, and they needed that money. Wherever they went, they would need money, which meant more jobs.

But it sounded possible when Jack said it. It sounded right.

"Let's do it," she said. She looked into his eyes. "I mean it. Let's do it. Exactly the way you said."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "I just realized it's what I want; it's what I've been wanting. Before we were just leaving, but if we do this, we have a purpose. _I_ have a purpose. I won't just be your wife or the model in your drawings."

"You'd never just be that."

"You might not say it, and maybe you wouldn't even think it, but without something of my own, I might start to feel that way. You would notice, and we'd both hate it," she said. "We might hate each other after a while. Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah, it does. It's like when you said you wanted to be useful, not just decorative."

Rose smiled. "Yes."

"How do we start?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she said. "I guess we'll figure that out as we go."

"Always worked for me."

….

Cal listened to the reports, but he cared less than he should have about what his men had to say. The truth was, if the organizers won—or were given in to, depending on the perspective—it wouldn't actually hurt the business very much. Mostly, it would affect his profits, and he had begun wondering if that was such a bad thing. He loved his work; he loved running the businesses, the challenge and the thrill of it. It could make him feel safe even when he was on the verge of falling apart again. Rose was the only other thing that made him feel that way. So, why not just do it for that feeling alone? For the satisfaction that came with accomplishing something? Let the workers have what they want. Their demands were small, anyway, and someone should get what they want.

But this father's order to keep things as they were and to quell even talk of organizing, by whatever means necessary, stopped him. He had his own money, and he owned his own parts of the Hockley Empire, but he couldn't bring himself to defy his father. He was ashamed of his cowardice, but he didn't know how to overcome it. Breaking down was the closest to a defiant act he had ever come, and at first, losing his father's good opinion hurt deeply, but now, it just left him angry and resentful. He didn't deserve such scorn. He was every bit as good at running things as he ever was. But he wasn't the son Nathan wanted, not anymore. He had let himself change, let himself feel and experience things he never had before, and it for the first time, Cal had been deeply happy. It was bewildering. But if he was going to be alone, did any of it matter?

"Just increase your efforts," Cal said dismissing them with a wave of his hand. "I don't want to know anything. I don't want anything connected to me. Do what you have to do. Try not to kill anyone."

Maybe, he thought, as they left, he didn't have to be alone. Hadn't he vowed to keep trying with Rose? They weren't married yet, and engagements could always be broken. He knew she felt something for him; she had to.

….

The whirring of the sewing machine woke him. Jack found Rose at the kitchen table, surrounded by fabric, a portable sewing machine in front of her. Her back was to him, but even as he around her, she didn't notice his presence. She wore a look of absolute concentration. Her hands moved quickly, with skill; Jack was riveted by her. Something was taking shape in her hands, though he couldn't yet tell what it was. It seemed wrong to disturb her, so he left without saying a word.

…..

Jack found out what she had been making the next morning. As usual, she was up before him. He felt her empty side of the bed and wished, just once, she would stay. The smell of breakfast lured him out of bed.

"You're so domestic," he said with a grin.

"You're not getting any waffles now," she said, shaking her head in mock pity. "Making fun of me like that."

He kissed her cheek. "I meant it in a good way."

"And yet, after all these weeks, you still sound surprised. I thought I could do anything?" she teased.

"Maybe I'm surprised at my own good luck. You turned out to be the most amazingly, astoundingly wonderful woman, and you can cook."

"It's my ability to make waffles that you really love, isn't it? Jack, is that all you want in a wife?" she asked, feigning horror.

"You're all I want in a wife," he said. "Even if you never make me breakfast again."

Rose smiled. "But I will."

There was a grey shirt folded neatly in front of his chair. Jack turned it over, looking for clues as to its origin. "I hope you like it," she said. "I thought the color would bring out your eyes."

He turned to her. "I love it." He felt the soft fabric. "I—" He pulled her to him. "Thank you. You really made this?" She nodded. "Is that what you were doing last night?" he asked.

"I did wake you after all. I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine," he said. "I didn't mind. I came in to see if you were alright, but you were so absorbed in your sewing I left you alone. Did you get up just to do this?"

"I couldn't sleep," she replied. "For the first time since you got here. I couldn't stop thinking about everything we said. I didn't know what I was going to make until I started."

"No-one's ever given me anything like this," he said. "Well, except my mother, but that's different. Thank you," he said again. He kissed her, slowly, but with the promise of more.

….

The first note arrived that week. Jack found it. It was stuck in the door with a small knife. The words were crudely printed in an obvious attempt to disguise the author's handwriting. He read it twice. It said: _Stop talking to your Bolshevik friends or your pretty Wife won't like what happens._

Jack crumpled the note in his fist. He had heard stories about threats like this. They were made to union organizers and strikers, something anonymously, sometimes under the name of a gang, but they were all the same: to scare people into keep quiet or into giving them money. Sometimes both. But why send him a threat? He wasn't involved in anything.

And then it hit him. Ted. They had seen them together, and this was just an attempt to be thorough. Anyone who even looked at Ted or the people who worked with him had likely received a similar note. He closed the knife and put it in his pocket. If he continued minding his own business, they would have no reason to bother him further. And neither he nor Rose had any money, so why pursue the threats for that?

It was a reasonable assumption, and yet, he found himself testing the locks on the door. They worked alright, but maybe he would put on a better one, for when Rose was home alone.

…

It began as a twinge, and Rose dismissed it easily. This went on for several days, but by the fourth she was forced to acknowledge the pain's existence. It didn't have to mean anything, though. It could be the usual pain that came every month; except, it had been so long since she had a normal monthly pain that she couldn't remember what it was like. But this wasn't unbearable; it was rather bad, but it she could handle it. There was no need to panic.

But it wouldn't go away, and Jack saw something was wrong. "Do you feel alright?" he asked, studying her face closely, concern in his eyes.

 _I'm fine._ The words were on the tip of her tongue. But she heard herself say. "I don't know."

"What's wrong?"

"It' the pain, like before," she replied. "It's not as bad—"

Jack didn't wait to hear more. "C'mon," he said, lifting her up and into his arms. "Let's get you to bed."

"Jack, I don't need to go to bed," she protested.

"And then I'm calling the doctor," he said.

"No, don't. It's not that bad, and we can't afford—"

"For you to be sick? No, we can't," he said. He pulled back the covers and carefully lay her down. She let him remover her shoes and unbutton her dress. She shrugged it off and was left in her underclothes. He covered her up. "I'll be back in a minute," he said.

"Jack—"

"Rose, don't, please." He brushed a curl away from her face. "I'm not gonna let it get as bad as it did before," he said. "Neither of us need to go through that again."

"I was trying to protect you."

"I know. I love you. Stay here," he said.

"I love you," she called half-heartedly, as he left.

The phone was ringing when he got to it. "Hello?" he said impatiently.

"I'd like to speak to Rose."

Even through a scratchy connection Cal's voice was unmistakable. "You can't right now," Jack replied. "Look, I gotta make a call—"

"Why not?" Cal demanded.

"Because I have to make a call," Jack said, slowly, pronouncing each word distinctly. "And it's more important than whatever you have to say, and Rose can't be bothered right now." He was about to press the button to hang up.

"What's wrong?"

Jack was surprised to hear concern in Cal's voice. "Nothing."

"Don't talk to me like I'm stupid," Cal snapped. "What's happened to her? No. Never mind. I'll just come there." And before Jack could respond, there was a click, and Cal was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

She was sick. That was all he could think about. She was hurt. Dying. And he wasn't there. He wouldn't have known. She might want him. But Jack would never tell him. The door was unlocked. Cal didn't bother knocking. He went straight to the bedroom. Rose lay in the middle of the bed. Her face was contorted in pain. Jack held her hand. He was stroking her hair and whispering to her. Jack turned when he came in, clearly expecting someone else. His mouth thinned, and he tightened his jaw. Cal ignored him and took a place on Rose's other side.

They didn't look at each other; instead, they looked at her. Cal kissed her hand, not caring if Jack saw. He held it against his lips. Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I came to see how you were," Cal said quietly.

"I didn't think it had been that long," Rose said. "How did you know?"

The doctor arrived as he was about to answer. Both Jack and Cal were sent from the room, and the door closed behind them. The tension was palpable. Jack lit a cigarette and kept his back to Cal. He stayed on the far side of the living room. But his anger wouldn't let him remain quiet. "You shouldn't have come," he said.

"You can't tell me not to come here," Cal said.

Jack turned, his eyes cold. "Yes, I can," he said. "I am. Leave her alone."

"When were you put in control of who she sees?" Cal said mockingly. "It's up to her to tell me to leave. I thought I made that clear."

"What do you think you're gonna get out of this?" Jack demanded. "You think showing up like this, when she's sick, is gonna make her want you?"

Cal met Jack's glare. "I think she needs me," he retorted. "She needs me more than she'll ever need you. You can't take care of her."

"I've been taking care of her," Jack said. "Just fine. And I'll keep doing it."

"No, you haven't. I wouldn't have had to give her a job if you were," Cal said. "She wouldn't need one."

"All you think about is money—"

"Clearly, someone should. She isn't strong enough for the life you're giving her," Cal snapped. "She probably never was. She wouldn't be sick now if she'd—"

"If she's married you?" Jack scoffed.

"I love her," Cal said calmly.

"You want her. That's all."

"I love her," Cal insisted.

"Not the way I do," Jack said.

"You're right," Cal said. "I love her more. I would do what's best for her."

"You don't have a clue what's best for her."

"And you can't afford what's best for her," Cal hissed. "You can't let her get well."

The words hit Jack like a blow to the face. It was true; as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn't. They weren't even close to paying the bill from her first illness. This one would probably never get paid. And if she kept getting sick, then what? Could he even hope to earn enough to keep her off her feet, without constant sacrifice? Jack sat his shoulders. Yes, he decided. He could. Somehow. If that's what she needed, he would find a way. Even if it meant giving up traveling. Giving up his art. It would be worth it. "You don't know what I can do," Jack said. "Especially for her."

"You won't keep her."

"Even if she leaves me," Jack said. "She won't come to you. She woulda done it already."

…..

Rose's condition was more of the same, as far as the doctor could tell. It had come back sooner than anticipated, but it wasn't fatal. It was just quite painful. He took Jack aside and explained everything to him. Jack tried to appear calm, but his worry was obvious. While they talked Cal slipped back into the bedroom. He would find out everything later.

"She'll need another operation." Jack nodded, not sure he could speak. "It may never completely go away. I told you before."

"Yeah, but what does that mean?" Jack asked. "That this will keep happening over and over?"

…

Rose dimly felt Cal take her hand. His lips were cool on her face. His touch was comforting, though she knew it wasn't Jack's. She opened her eyes, swimming against the fog of the medication. "You're still here," she murmured.

"Of course. I'll stay as long as you want me to," he said.

"Jack won't like that."

"I don't care," he replied.

"Please, don't fight," she said. Her eyes were getting heavier. "I love you both. I can't…." Her eyes fell closed. Cal leaned down and kisser her again, on her lips this time.

…..

Jack was sleeping next to her when she woke up. His arms were loosely wrapped around her. His features hadn't fully relaxed. She moved a hand across his face, as if to smooth away the tension. "Rose?" he said, stirring.

"Go back to sleep," she whispered.

"What's wrong?" He was fully awake now.

"Nothing."

"You sure? Are you hurting again?" he asked, searching her face.

"I'm fine, Jack. I just woke up," she said. "Go back to sleep." She lay his head on her shoulder and held him. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into his hair. _I'm sorry,_ she thought. _I love you, Jack, and I'm making you miserable._

Jack listened to her heart beating; he felt the rise and fall of her breathing. _I'll take care of you better,_ he promised silently. _Rose, I will. I love you._

They lay together and yet alone.

…..

"You scared?" Jack asked.

Rose shook head. "I know what to expect this time," she said. "It won't be so bad." She tried to sound cheerful, but he wasn't fooled. Her eyes were anxious. She kept glancing at the door, dreading the moment they would come for her. She tightened her grip on his hand.

"You're gonna be fine," he said reassuringly. "In a few hours it'll be over, and you'll be back here with me."

"They don't like you staying."

"They can't make me leave," he said.

"I wish I had listened when you wanted to get married before," she said. "At least then—"

"Don't talk like that. We'll have plenty of time that later, when you're better," he said. "We got a long time left together. Rose, promise me you'll remember that. Remember all the years we have."

"I promise, Jack."

He kissed her slowly. "Hold on to it," he said. "No matter what happens."

"I will, Jack," she whispered.

They came for her then. Jack walked with them, holding her hands for as long as they would let him. When she disappeared behind the door he watched it for a long time.

…..

Cal stayed at the office while she was in surgery. His worked needed attention, and he didn't want to spend this hours with Jack. Things were getting worse with the agitators. The reports indicated his strategy wasn't working as expected, so the pressure would have to be increased. He was assured everything would be fine; they simply had to crack the leaders. It would all be handled discreetly. "It had better be," was his response. He had enough to worry about already. He sent a letter to his father, assuring him the situation was under control and hoped that would be enough to keep him in Pittsburg. Next, he sent a letter stating his intention to assume responsibility for any medical bills Rose had or would receive. A check for $5,000 was enclosed. Jack wouldn't like it, but he didn't care. Someone had to do it; someone had to make sure she got the care she needed.

Cal wanted to see her that night, but he forced himself to wait until the next morning. At least that way she would know he was there; she wouldn't be groggy from the medication.

When he got there the room was empty aside from Rose. She slept lightly. When he kissed her, she opened her eyes. "Hello," she said.

"I came to see how you were," he said.

"I'm alright, or they say I will be."

"That's good. Do they think—will it happen again?" he asked. He had already been given a full report, but he wondered how much she had been told.

"It's the same as before. They don't know," she answered. "I heard someone telling Jack these types of problems never really go away. They told me that before, but I guess I didn't really understand. Or want to."

"Where is he?"

"I sent him to eat. He hadn't had anything since yesterday," she said. "He stayed here with me all night. He needs to rest. He can't keep staying with me."

"Why not?"

"He has to work. You know that," she said. "We both do."

"Don't worry about that right now."

"I have to."

"No, you don't," Cal said. "You don't have anything to worry about. Just focus on getting well."

"What are you saying? Cal, you can't give us money."

"Why not?" he asked again.

"Jack won't take it. You know he won't. And I can't."

"If he weren't here you would," he argued.

"Maybe I would, and maybe I wouldn't," she said. "But it doesn't matter. He's here, and you two aren't friends. It's not—it would be degrading. You have to see that."

"So he care more about his pride than you."

"Don't change what I said," she replied. "Please, let's not argue. I don't have the energy for it today."

"I'm sorry, Rose. What _can_ I do?" he asked.

"Just be here. Keep me company."

"It's not enough," he said. "But I'll do it."

…..

They were deep in conversation when Jack arrived. Rose's eyes were brighter, and she was laughing. They didn't notice him at first. Cal's demeanor was different; he had never seen him this way. He was relaxed. He smiled easily, and they were genuine. He looked at Rose with adoring eyes. For a moment, it scared Jack. Cal was serious about getting her back. What if he managed to do it? There was a difference in her eyes when she saw him, a different kind of joy, but if Cal persisted, would she look at him the same way she looked at Jack?

"Jack," she said happily. She tried to sit up, but he motioned for her to remain still.

"You'll hurt yourself," Jack said. He kissed her, feeling Cal's gaze on him. He ignored it. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. Sore. But alright," she answered. She held his hands. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Don't worry about me."

"You had something to eat?" she said.

"Yes, Petal, I ate," Jack said. "I'm not the sick one here, though, remember? It's you we're worried about."

"I don't want everything to be about me," she said. "I'm just getting over all those years as a spoiled brat."

Jack grinned. "Oh, you think so?"

Cal knew he had been forgotten. It was an odd feeling, and he didn't like it. It wasn't fair. Jack shouldn't be able to just take her attention that way. Cal didn't understand it. He didn't do anything for her. What was it about him that kept her so besotted? Jack was a handsome man. Cal had no choice but to concede that. He was charming. But that was all Cal saw in him, and it wasn't enough to build a life on. As far as he could tell, Jack had none of the traits she disliked, and for that she thought he was perfect. But that made him more of a fantasy than anything else, in Cal's opinion. It didn't help matters that she had tried to run away with him. _Away from me,_ he thought. _I created this._ It wasn't the first time he had thought it, but somehow, it bothered him more now.

"You need to get some rest," Rose was saying.

Jack shook his head. "I'm fine. I slept plenty last night."

"Sitting up, in the chair, with your eyes closed is not sleeping," she said. "Go home, Jack. Go to sleep for a few hours."

Dark circles filled the spaces beneath Jack's eyes. His back was sore from trying to sleep in the hair chair. Getting into bed did sound like a good idea, but leaving her didn't. Jack didn't know which would make him feel worse: leaving her alone or leaving her with Cal. But she wouldn't do anything. He knew that. She didn't love Cal; she never had. Never would. So why was he so worried? He glanced at Cal and thought he saw the plans forming behind his eyes. Cal was tricky. He was clever and ruthless. He would do anything to get what he wanted. Hadn't he learned that all too well?

Bu he had to sleep. He had to go to work the next morning, whether he liked it or not. Rose understood, but that didn't make it any easier. "I'll go for a couple of hours," Jack said.

Rose thought his face affectionately. "Good. We can't both be sick."

"You're gonna get better," Jack said.

"I am," Rose agreed dramatically. She was rewarded with his smile.

Jack felt Cal's stare as he kissed her. "I love you," he said. "I won't be long."

"I'll be fine, Jack. I love you, so go take care of yourself," she said.

…..

The note was stuck to the door with a nail. It was in the middle of the paper, like an arrow in a bull's eye. Jack knew it was a threat before he read it. What else could it be? It was short and written in block letters. It threatened Rose, but he knew he was the real target. Either someone was trying to get to him through her, which is what both notes suggested, or they were trying to scare him away from her. There was every reason to believe it was someone who thought he was involved with Ted and his activities, but his gut insisted Cal was involved. It made sense. Cal tried to scare him the night Rose got sick again. But it was a rather indirect method. The Cal he knew preferred to be in the middle of the action, watching and orchestrating; he wouldn't send vague threats.

"He's trying to throw me off," Jack decided. "He can't do anything Rose might find out about." Cal couldn't just kill him or send him away, somehow, like before. Instead, he wanted Jack to leave on his own. "Well, it's not gonna happen." Jack crumpled the paper in his fist. He didn't realize how right and yet how wrong he was.

…

Rose was kept in the hospital for the next three days. Jack spent evenings with her and tried to sleep there, but she sent him home. "You need rest," she insisted. She would have let him squeeze into bed with her, but it was a constant struggle with the staff to keep him there. Cal came during the morning and stayed until lunchtime. He wanted to stay all day, but he didn't want to seem too eager or overbearing. Smothering her had been one of his mistakes in the past.

"This is too familiar," Rose said, once she was settled on the couch.

"I could carry you to bed," Jack offered.

"No, I'm fine here," she said. "Either way I can't get up." She sighed. "Why did this happen?"

"I don't know. Something went wrong in your body," he said. "It's not your fault."

"I feel like it is. My body betrayed me," she said. "I'm pathetic. Helpless."

"You shouldn't say things like that about yourself," he said. "You're gonna get over this. By next week you'll be able to get up and do things again. You're gonna get better, and we're gonna have the life we planned."

"You're right, Jack. I'm pitying myself, and I shouldn't be. It could be so much worse. I could be alone. I don't know how I'd get through this without you."

"You'd find a way," he said. "You're strong enough to get through anything. You made it all that time on your own."

"They were such difficult years," she said. "At first, I didn't have anyone or anything. I felt so alone. There were times when I didn't know if I could keep going. Thinking about you helped. I knew you'd want me to make it. I wanted to make it. Not just for you, but for myself as well," she went on. "It's terribly ironic Cal became my closest friend."

"Yeah. I still don't understand that," he said. "I've tried. Really, I have, Rose, but…."

"But you don't like him" she finished.

"Not even a little bit."

"I don't blame you," she said. "He isn't easy to like." She laid her hand on his. "You're the one I'm in love with," she added. "Being his friend doesn't change that."

"I know. I trust you, Rose."

"But you don't trust him."

"I'll never trust him," Jack said. "I can't. Not when—" _Not when he's in love with you,_ he wanted to say. _Not when he'd do anything to get you back. Not when he's trying to scare me off._

… _.._

There were more notes, but Jack didn't tell her. He didn't tell her about his suspicions either. She didn't need that kind of stress on top of everything else. If she believed him there would be a confrontation. And if she didn't believe him—well, he preferred not to think about that. He left Rose each morning and came back later than he wanted to. But they needed the money, so he worked extra shifts and brushed aside her concerns about his health. "I'm fine," he said. "A few hours sleep is all I need. I've done it before."

"You can't keep this up for much longer," Rose said. "It's not good for you."

"I'll stop in a few weeks," he promise. "As soon as we've got more money."

Was life always going to be about money? They both wondered this, but they didn't know how to say it. It seemed as if nothing had changed. They still didn't have enough to set out together, only now they were all too aware of it.

Slowly, Rose healed, and in the days she spent alone she sewed, though she didn't tell Jack. He would say it was too much for her. Cal didn't come by every day, but he was there a few times a week. She liked the company, but at times there was a tension between them that hadn't been there before. She sensed there were things he wasn't saying. They talked while she sewed, but he never said what he really wanted to. _I love you. Leave him and come to me._

He didn't know he was going to do it, but one afternoon he heard himself ask, "What are you making?"

"A dress. Can't you tell?" she replied.

"Yes, but for what?" he said. "It's rather…."

"Pretty?" she offered.

"Well, that's one way of putting it."

"Did you think I would make an ugly dress?" she said dryly. "Actually, it's for—" She paushed, reluctant to say it.

He picked up on her meaning. "Oh. I see. So, you're still going to marry him?"

"Of course," she said. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Maybe with everything that's happened—"

"If you're referring to my health, that isn't Jack's fault," she said. "This would have happened even if I'd married you."

"But not the same way."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

Cal knew he had said too much. He could either tell her how he felt, and possibly lose her even more, or he could try and get out of the situation diplomatically. "I just don't think he's good enough for you," he said, trying to tread the line between the two.

"You never did. But I'll grant we were engaged at the time," she replied.

"It's not that. I'm over that. He simply isn't good enough for you," Cal said. "Rose, you should have more than this."

"I have enough. He loves me."

"Love won't take care of you," he said. "You need more than that."

"But money alone won't make you happy," she argued.

"Maybe not," he said. "But you could have both."


	10. Chapter 10

Over the next few weeks Rose got better, but everything else seemed to get worse. All of the workers in Cal's companies went on strike, in one swift, well-organized movement. Only the executives, managers, and secretaries were left—the first because they were the enemy and the second because most of them were women, and so they simply weren't thought of. Chaos reigned in the offices the day it happened. Rose had only been back at work for three days. She didn't know which way to go. The press was there, demanding statements and photos. The phones wouldn't stop ringing. Many people had just left, quitting or giving up; either way, they were gone.

After an hour of running around and accomplishing nothing, Rose went to the only place she might be of some help.

Cal's office swarmed with people, all talking at once. He stood in the middle, yelling the loudest, but still struggling to be heard. Rose was reminded of the panic as the ship went down. She reached into her pocket and took out the whistle she always carried. Its piercing sound silenced the crowd. They turned toward her, astonished. Cal laughed. "Thank you, Rose," he said. "Now, everyone, get out!"

The protests began. "But something must be done!"

"It will be," Cal said authoritatively. "It is being done."

"But you have to—"

"I'll talk to the papers when I'm ready," Cal replied. "When we have a statement to give, they'll get it. Until then you all know what you're supposed to be doing, so go do it!" As they began filing out he called, "You can stay, Rose. If you will."

"Things are going well, I see," she said. Now that they were alone she felt awkward. They'd spent little time together since the day he declared his feelings. He hadn't used specific words, but he hadn't needed tp. She knew what he meant. She had argued with herself about coming back, but the need for money won out. And he was still her friend. She still cared for him.

"Thank you," Cal said again. "I didn't think I would ever get them out of here."

"You're welcome."

"What brought you up here?" he asked.

"I came to see if I could help. It doesn't look like you need any, though."

"Actually, I do. My secretary quit this morning. I couldn't ask you to work for me for a while, could I?"

Rose knew it wasn't a plot to keep her close, but she worried about giving him false hope. "I'll help until you find someone else," she said.

"I'm glad you came back."

"You don't think I should be working at all," she reminded him.

"I know you will anyway. At least here you'll be treated well. You have a friend."

"Shouldn't be all be so lucky to have a friend at the top," she joked. "None of this would be happening if we did."

"Do you agree with them?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" she said. "My opinion won't change how you run things. It isn't worth much."

"You'd be surprised how much your good opinion is worth."

"Cal, don't, please," Rose said. "I'm trying to help you, to be your friend. Don't make that impossible."

"I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. I'm being childish. This isn't the time for that conversation."

"There is no time for it," she said firmly. "Cal, you have to accept the way things are. If Jack weren't here, maybe at some point you and I would have—maybe something would have happened between us, but that isn't an option anymore. I love him. I'm marrying him. Don't make me say it again. Don't make me cut your out of my life."

Cal couldn't bear the thought of never seeing her again. This limited contact was better than nothing at all. Jack had already taken her in so many ways. He barely spent any time with her now, unless she was ill. It seemed that was the only time he was allowed uninterrupted access to her. Jack didn't insinuate himself between them then. "Losing you is so difficult," he said. "Even more now. I've never been a graceful loser. You know that, Rose."

"Only too well," she said drily.

"Shall we get to work then?"

"We should," she replied.

…..

It had finally happened. Jack had been expecting it for weeks, but he was still unprepared to arrive at work and discover he was out of a job. The strike had been widened to include the warehouses he worked in. Every part of Cal's vast West Coast holdings was caught up in it. He could have crossed the picket line and gone in anyway, but he couldn't bring himself to do that, especially not for the little he was paid. But he refused to join them. It was too dangerous, and he needed money now, not in a few weeks or months. With both of them working, they could start preparing to leave L.A. He could get Rose a ring. It didn't feel right to be getting married and not have a ring. Getting her one mattered to him. It shouldn't have mattered so much, and if Cal hadn't been hovering around, waiting for a chance to try and steal her away, Jack knew it wouldn't have weighed so heavily on his mind. Cal could buy her dozens of rings, a dozen for each finger, all with a stone bigger than the last. But he could barely scrape together enough money for the plainest band. Rose didn't care, but Jack did.

And she would get sick again. They had told him it would happen again, and there was only one way to stop it, but she refused to do it.

"We'll _never_ have children then," she pointed out.

"I know, but you'll be alright," Jack argued. "You won't be in pain anymore. You won't get sick anymore. I'd rather have that."

"You say that now, but what about in five years?" Rose asked. "Or in ten years? When it's just us, and you want children. You won't want _me_ then."

"Don't say that. You don't know—"

"Jack, please, I'm fine now, or I will be soon. Can't we just try for a little while to have one? If we can't, or if I get sick again first, and if it's really certain I'll just keep getting sick, I'll do it," she said.

"Rose." Jack reached for her. She was on the verge of collapsing; she fell into his arms. "It's alright," he said, rubbing her back soothingly. "We'll try." Their lives were already difficult, but he didn't see how they could get any more so. And he wanted a child with her, at least one, if they could. But if it didn't happen, they would go on.

That had been two weeks ago, and now he realized he not only needed a job, but he needed a better job. He needed something stable, something that would actually enable him to take care of her. But where would he find something like that?

Jack spent the morning walking around, looking for Help Wanted signs and scanning newspapers. There had to be something. He had just finished lunch when he ran into Ted. As usual, Ted was in a hurry but happy to see him. "How've you been, Jack?" he asked.

"I've been worse, I guess," Jack replied honestly. "What about you?"

"Oh, fantastic. Things are really coming together."

"Yeah, I noticed," Jack said. "The strike hit my job today."

"I'm sorry," Ted said, sounding concerned. "I know you didn't want to be a part of this. You understand why we had to do it, don't you?"

"I understand. It's not that I disagree. I told you that before. I'm already looking for a new one," Jack replied.

"Still getting married?"

"Of course. We woulda done it already, but she's been ill." Worry came through in his voice. "But things are working? I told you, you didn't need me," Jack said.

"Still could use you," Ted replied.

"No. I can't."

"Alright. Things are getting exciting, though. A change is gonna come," Ted predicted. "We haven't had much response yet, but it won't take long now."

"Ted, doesn't this scare you at all?" Jack asked.

"Sure, sometimes, but somebody has to do it. I don't have a family. The Cause is my life. I have to do it. It's worth getting a arrested for or hit a few times."

"But what if something worse than that happens?"

"It usually doesn't. It hasn't yet," Ted said. He knew it could, but he did his best to remain confident.

"But what if?" Jack pressed.

Ted only shrugged in response. Neither of them realized they were being watched. Their conversation couldn't be heard, but they were both followed when it ended. And neither realized how much worse it could get—how much worse it _would_ get before it was finally over.

….

"What if he and I tried to be friends?"

The question startled Rose. It was nearly five o'clock; the day had been long and exhausting. Those were the last words she expected to hear from Cal. "What?" she said.

"I was thinking, perhaps Jack and I could get along," he said. He only looked slightly uncomfortable as he said it.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"For you," he said.

"It means a lot to me that you're willing to try, but don't you think you have more pressing concerns?" she asked.

"Do you mean this situation?" he said. "I can handle this. I have people who can handle it for me. Trust me, Rose, it's being taken care of."

"What about your father?" she asked.

"I'm sure the news has already reached him. He may come out here. I can't stop him. The situation will be well in hand by then, though. He 'll have no reason to stay."

"How can you be so sure? You're hiring new workers, but what if you can't find enough? Crossing picket lines isn't easy, and many people agree with the strikers."

"They need jobs, though," Cal said. "When they need one badly enough, they won't care anymore. I'll get the workers I need."

"But what about the ones you already had?"

"What about them?" he asked. "I didn't force them to do this."

"They would say you did. Don't you care at all about what they want? Are their demands really so absurd to you?"

"If I give in to them once, I'll never stop," he answered.

"Don't you have enough money yet?"

"Rose, it isn't just me involved," he said. "There is the rest of my family to consider, the rest of the people who work for me—you're one of them—the stock holders, customers, hundreds, thousands of people. What am I supposed to tell them? I can't look weak in front of them."

Rose shook her head. "How can one man be so sweet and kind one moment and then so cold and logical the next?"

"I'm trying to do what's best for myself and the people I'm accountable to," he said. "I'm not the only one making decisions. I may yell the loudest, but there are so many other voices, and I care about you," he added. "So being kind is easy."

…

Jack didn't have to say anything. Rose knew as soon as she saw him. "Well, things could always be worse," she said optimistically.

"I'll find something else," he said. "Soon."

"I know you will. I'm not worried about that."

"You're not?" he said.

"No. I have faith in you, Jack. We'll get through this. It may not be easy, but we will."

Rose's confidence lifted his spirits. "Who wants easy?" he said. "I like challenges."

"Is that why you're marrying me?" she joked.

"Maybe," he grinned. "But since you brought it up, let's do it."

"You mean, get married?"

"Yes. Let's not wait anymore. You don't want to keep putting it off, do you?" he asked.

"No," Rose answered. "I don't." She smiled mysteriously. The urge to show him the dress she had made was strong. "Let's do it tomorrow."

"Really?"

Rose nodded. "I'll leave the office early, at lunch, and we'll have the rest of the day together."

"Can you do that?"

"Why not?" she said. "Things were starting to come back together by the end of today. My being gone for a few hours shouldn't have much impact."

"Yeah, I heard about what's happening. Was it awful today?"

"It was at first, but once things settled down a bit, it wasn't so bad. People were quitting all day, just walking out without saying anything."

"How's he handling it?" Jack couldn't get Cal's name said.

"Surprisingly well," she said. "His secretary quit."

"She did?"

"He," Rose corrected. "Apparently he was one of the firs to go. I'm filling in for him, until someone else can be found." She watched his face, waiting for him to react.

Jack tried not to let it bother him. "Did he ask you to do that?"

"Yes. I only agreed to help temporarily because things are in such a shambles," she said. "My boss quite also, and we talked about the way he feels."

"You did?"

"I gave him one final chance to be my friend. Nothing more. I know how he feels about me, but he knows how I feel and any hopes he might have are just dreams. Nothing will ever come of them."

"Didn't he agree to that before? But then when you were sick, there he was," Jack pointed out.

"I'm not sure that's fair. Oh, Jack, please don't make me defend him. I wouldn't want—if you had someone whom you were close to, I wouldn't ask you to—this is such a mess," she said, sighing.

"I'm not trying to take something matters to you away," he said. "I want you to have friends and people who care about you. You deserve that. But I know he's in love with you, and I know what he did before, when he just _wanted_ you, and I don't trust him."

"I know."

"I know I've said that. I know there's gotta be _something_ good in him for you to care so much, but I can't forget he'd take you from me in a second if he thought he could."

"No-one can do that," Rose said. "I love you. I don't want anyone else." She put her arms around him. "I'm marrying you, Jack. I waited for you, even when I didn't know it yet. And we'll leave soon. We'll find our own places, new people. I promise."

"We have to stop having this conversation," he said. "I know how I sound. I don't want to be like that."

…

Rose carried the dress with her, carefully folded, in a box. Before leaving the office she ducked into the women's bathroom and changed. Cal saw her in the dress. He said nothing as he watched her go. He knew exactly where she was going. He went into his office and locked the door. It was his own fault, and he knew it.

The clock was striking one when she arrived. Jack was already there. His eyes lit up when he saw her. "You look nice," he said.

He wore the shirt she'd made him. Rose smiled, remembering the other time he'd said those words. "Thank you. So do you."

"When did—Rose, did you make this yourself?" he asked, impressed.

She nodded proudly. "Do you really like it?"

"It's incredible." He kissed her hands. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said eagerly.

Rose's heart beat wildly during the ceremony. Jack never let go of her hand. When they kissed it was like the first one all over again, tender and hesitant, then passionate and unstoppable.

….

"Well, what now?" Rose asked. They walked along the boardwalk, basking in the sun.

"You know, Mrs. Dawson, there's something we haven't done yet."

Rose's smile widened. "And what's that, Mr. Dawson?"

"Remember those plans we made? There was the roller coaster. We did that already. And the—"

"The horses!" she cried excitedly.

Jack nodded. "If you want."

"How could I have forgotten?" she said. "Yes, of course!"

…

Jack helped Rose climb onto her horse. "Remember, one leg—"

"On each side," she finished. "Yes, I know." It wasn't the frightening prospect it had once been. As they set out, she did feel slightly nervous, though. She felt the power of the horse beneath her, and she wasn't sure she would be able to control it. But she managed. Jack rode next to her, offering encouragement and advice.

Gradually, they spend up, and before she knew it they were galloping down the beach, splashing water as they went. Rose help tightly to the reins, no longer afraid, but gloriously free. She shrieked with laughter. Jack's laugh answered hers.

….

They were exhausted when they finally made it home. "We have to do that again," Rose said. "I can't believe I never did before."

"We will," Jack promised. She was about to step into the house when he stopped her. "I gotta carry you," he said, lifting her up.

"You've been living here for months."

"Still gonna do it," he said.

Rose looped her arms around his neck. She kissed him, moving her lips from his ear to his mouth. Jack let out a soft sigh. He held her tighter, kissing her deeply. "Well, what now?" he asked.

"Make me see the stars, Jack."

…

Jack went out every morning for the next two weeks, searching for a job, with no luck. It seemed there were none to be had. Every lead he followed turned out to be a dead end. Each night he went home more discouraged than before. Rose tried to cheer him up, but nothing helped. "You're sweet, Petal," he said. "But without a job, I'm….useless."

"Don't say things like that."

"It's true. The two of us working, that's fine, but just you?" He shook his head. "I didn't marry you so you could carry all the burdens."

"Jack, you're doing the best you can," she said. "It's only been two weeks. Please, don't get so upset. You'll find something. I'm sure you will."

The next afternoon he took a break in the park. Jack found an empty bench and scanned the area for something to draw. As he worked, his tension melted away. All of the bad feelings seemed to flow through the pencil. When he was finished he felt cleansed. He hadn't noticed the well-dressed man watching him. He looked up as the man sat down next to him.

"May I see that?" he asked, indicating the drawing.

"Sure," Jack replied. He was slightly startled by the request, but the man looked friendly enough.

The man studied it silently for what seemed like hours. Finally, he handed it back. "Do you think you could draw anything?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jack answered. "Pretty much."

"Would you mind being told what to draw?"

Jack shrugged. "I guess not. It would depend what it was. Why do you want to know?"

"Why don't we talk about this somewhere else?" he suggested. "My office, perhaps."

Jack became suspicious. "Why?"

"Because you might be just the kind of man I need."

…..

Rose was astonished when one of the other secretaries came up to her and whispered her husband was there. Something horrible must have happened, she thought. Why else would he be there? But what could it be? Rose hurried out into the main office where she met a beaming Jack. He swept her up into his arms, not caring who saw her. He kissed her before she could speak. "Jack, what's happened?" she asked breathlessly.

"I got a job!"

"That's wonderful! I knew you would, but why all of this?"

"Rose, it's not just any job," he said. "They're paying me to draw."

"What? Who is?"

"And advertising agency. They want me to run their art department," he explained. His eyes danced excitedly.

"What?" she said again, unable to form any other words.

"Exactly," he said. "But it's true."

"What does this mean?"

"It's means we're gonna be alright," he said. "More than alright." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "It means I can take care of you." Jack saw Cal over her shoulder. Nothing could spoil his joy, not even him. He felt generous and sympathetic toward everything and everyone. "You know," he said. "We should invite him to dinner."

"Are you serious?" Rose asked.

"Yes. You wanted us to be friends. I'll try," he said. At that moment, Jack had no enemies and no mistrust of anyone.

 **AN: Thanks for reading everyone!**


	11. Chapter 11

"Rose." It was a whisper. A sigh. A groan into her hair. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. Her curls were soft; they cradled him. She was kissing his neck, sighing in his ear. "Rose…Rose…." If he kept his eyes closed it was her. He could fool himself. But if he opened them even just a little, he couldn't pretend anymore. Her hair wasn't red enough. Her body wasn't shaped the same. Her mouth was too thin. She had freckles where Rose didn't. There were so many little differences, and they all added up to one awful truth: she wasn't Rose. He didn't know who she was. She had a name; she'd told it to him. She had a life, friends, a job, but he knew nothing about it, and he didn't care. If she minded she didn't let on, and Cal never opened his eyes, unless he had to.

…..

"C'mere," Jack said, reaching for her. Rose twirled toward him on her toes.

"Yes?" she said, taking his hand but staying at arm's length. "You wanted something?"

He grinned. "I do, Miss." He kissed her hand. "I want to draw you."

"You do?" The prospect made Rose's heart beat faster. "Now?"

"If you'll let me."

"How—how do you want me?" she asked, stumbling over the words. The look in his eyes made her blush. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?" he teased. "However you want to be," he added seriously. "You choose."

"But it's your drawing."

"But you paid me for a drawing you didn't get to keep," he said. "Consider this a replacement."

Rose thought for a moment, and then she said, "We need flowers."

…

They got dozens of flowers. Pom daises. Corn flowers. Orchids. Sun flowers. Anything but roses. Jack was adamant about that. "You're the rose," he said.

"If I take my clothes off for this one, will you mind?" she asked.

"No. Why should I?"

"I don't have anything to prove anymore," she said. "I'm not doing it to leave for anyone to find. I'm not sharing myself with you in the same way."

"Sure you are. It's always the same. No matter how many times I see you, how many times we make love, it's always the same."

"I'm sorry I left your drawings for Cal to find," she said. "It was a horrible thing to do, leaving them and then taking you back there. I knew how he would react, but I felt like nothing could hurt us anymore. I felt—it's so absurd," she said, laughing wanly. "I felt invincible. As long as you didn't let go of my hand, everything would be fine. I was so stupid."

"You weren't stupid. You were happy and in love and caught up in what was happening," he said. "Just like me. I knew it was a bad idea to go back there, but I went because you asked me to. I'dve put my hand in fire if you'd asked me to. I still would," he went on. "If that's what you needed. Rose, you needed to go back that night. I get it. You were trying to show them they couldn't control you. Running away without saying anything is still hard, but it's easier than telling everyone you're going."

"Don't be like this," Rose said. "Jack, why are you so understanding? Why don't you ever just get _angry_ with me? Tell me I'm selfish and naïve and nearly got you killed? That it's my fault you didn't have a chance to get on a boat?"

"Because you aren't any of that," he said. "A little naïve, maybe, back then, but you'd been so sheltered. You couldn't help it. And I'm not gonna yell at you for things that aren't your fault. I was there. I stayed with you. No-one made me. If I'd wanted, I coulda left you and found a place in a boat. I could've left you after we made love, pretended I didn't really care and saved myself from what I knew was coming." He took her in his arms. "I didn't do that. I love you, Rose. I don't blame you for anything that happened that night. Please, let go of it."

"We've never really talked about it," she said. "When I thought you were—dead—" She tripped over the word. "I blamed myself."

"I wish you hadn't. But I blamed myself for you, too."

"So we're even, I guess," she said.

"Except for that drawing."

Rose lay on the floor, pillows and cushions around and under her. The flowers were scattered across the floor, some still attached to the stem, others just petals. There were flowers in her hair, weaved through her curls, petals on her body, in her hands.

"Perfect," Jack said, when she was posed. "Try to stay still." He sighed, and it brought back the first time so vividly Rose almost hurt. Was this really happening? After all these years, were they actually here, doing this? Married? Happy?

"Is that what I'm supposed to do?" was all she said.

"And keep your eyes on me."

That part was easy.

…..

When it was over Rose's body tingled; she was afraid to get up. It was as if Jack had been touching her the whole time. Did that happen to other models? Were all artists' eyes like hands? "Want to see it?" Jack asked. He was a little afraid to get up himself. Drawing always felt intimate, no matter what or who the subject was, but drawing Rose was different. In some ways his work was always an act of love; maybe it was the fact that she loved him back that made the difference.

She knelt by him. "Jack, it's extraordinary. You've gotten better. I didn't realize you could," she said.

"It could still be better," he said modestly.

Rose kissed his neck. "Just say, thank you darling."

"Thank you, darling."

"And thank you, Jack," she said. "It's too bad we can't put it in a frame and hang it up for people to see."

"Why can't we?"

She couldn't tell if he was serious or not. "Do you mean that?" she said, not sure she wanted the answer.

"I don't know. It's you, so I don't want anybody else to see it, but that's kinda why I want everyone to see it. That's my wife, that beautiful woman," he said.

"You make me more beautiful than I really am."

Jack just shook his head.

…..

It was the most demanding job Jack had ever had. People reported to him. He had a staff of ten and a secretary, his own office, a telephone. It was more than he'd ever imagined having. It was overwhelming. He was being deferred to; his opinion didn't just matter, it decided things.

"Sir?" His secretary, a sweet-faced young woman with pale blonde hair stood in front of his desk, notepad in hand.

Jack looked up from his papers. He was uncomfortable with the way everyone addressed him there. Sir. Mr. Dawson. Neither sounded right. That wasn't him. He was Jack. "Would you make copies of these?" he asked, holding up some papers. "For the meeting tomorrow. Please, Miss Sheffield."

"Of course. Is there anything else?" she said.

"No."

How did people do this every day? Stay inside. Attend meetings. Read letters. Answer letters. Attend more meetings. Give directions. Planning the art was exciting. Jack enjoyed that part. He looked forward to _those_ meetings. His group met around a large table, sketchpads at the ready, tossing around ideas. They could all draw, with varying degrees of skill. They all had a specialty. Some of them painted, which Jack wished they'd show him, though he didn't know how to ask. There was a friendliness among them all, but they didn't consider themselves his friends, and he was quite aware of this. They were employees; he was a department head, a Boss, and worse yet, an outsider. Most of them considered themselves Serious Artists, and Jack could tell they didn't want to seem too enthusiastic about their jobs. This was just something they did for money. This wasn't _art_.

Jack wanted to tell them he was a serious artist as well; he always had been. He was doing this for the money and because it brought him close to what he most loved doing. But he couldn't say that. They would stare at him, and then they would probably laugh. Jack had never felt so awkward or out of place. Was this what made Cal and people like him the way they were? Where did the isolation start? Did they set themselves apart, investing their jobs, their wealth, with more importance, or were they set apart by others? And _why_ was he being paid so much anyway? He didn't do much more than the others, as far as he could see. Did coordinating things really warrant such a higher wage?

Jack knew he shouldn't question it. He should just be grateful. And he was. He was even, after only a couple of weeks, beginning to think about telling Rose she could quit her job if she wanted to.

….

The strike showed no sign of ending, and the story hadn't died. Instead, it was everywhere. But new workers had been hired; they had to be brought in from outside the city, but what did that matte? It kept things going, and it kept his father away, so Cal didn't care. The picketers were gaining support; the crowds were growing and getting to work was becoming difficult for everyone still working in the main offices. Cal went in with an armed guard now, but things were still thrown at him. Most of the time the violence was limited to him, but that was beginning to change.

That afternoon, as Rose left for lunch, going out toe back way to avoid the worst of the crowd, a bottle was thrown at her. It came flying through the air, without warning. She didn't have a clue until it hit her, shattering against her head, cutting her face. She screamed in pain and shock. The next one hit her hands, which had been raised in defense. She ducked to avoid anything else that might be coming, but another bottle hit the side of her head. She was trying to decide which direction to run when Cal yelled her name.

Suddenly, he was there. His arms were around her; he pressed her to him, putting his jacket over her like a shield. Something hit him, and he swore. She held tightly to him, letting him lead her. She felt safe next to him, even though, in a way, it was his fault they were under attack.

Rose still held onto him once they were safely in the car, being driven away. Cal turned to her. Her hands were bruised and cut, but her face was the worse. One side was already swollen and black. A deep cut went down her cheek. Gently, he pressed his handkerchief against it to stop the bleeding. Pain rang through her head like a bell. He kept an arm around her. In that moment, she needed to be held, and it didn't seem wrong to be held by him.

"It's alright now. You're safe," he said.

"Thank you."

"I wouldn't have left you there," he said. "Cowardly bastards, hurting you instead of me."

"I work for you. It's all the same, and I'm your friend, so that's even worse."

"It shouldn't have happened," Cal said. "I should never have let things go on this long. I shouldn't have let this happen."

"I don't see what you could have done, aside from agreeing to their demands," she said.

"I could have made sure you didn't go out there alone."

"You can't favor me," Rose said. "If I get a special escort, everyone should, or at least, the women."

"Maybe they will."

"There's no end in sight, is there?" she asked.

"No," he said, sighing. "I have people working on it, but…"

"But you can't tell me what they're doing," she finished. "Cal, please don't do something you'll regret. Don't let this change you. You have a good heart beneath all that arrogance and well-bred masculinity." He chuckled. "I mean it," she went on. "I don't want to lose you over this. Don't stop being the Cal I love."

It was only the love of a friend, but his heart fluttered nonetheless. He hated that she had been hurt, and he hated the fact that it was his fault even more. "We need to get this cut looked at," he said. "And make sure nothing's broken."

…

Rose's cheek bone was cracked. The cut needed stitches. The doctor assured her it wouldn't scare, but she was too buried in the pain medication to care. When it was over Cal helped her back to his car. Each step was an effort for her; she had to hold onto him just to stay upright. Once in the car she sank against him. Rose felt dizzy, and her stomach lurched. She closed her eyes, soothed by his solidness. His arms were reassuring. The world was spinning, but he was still.

Cal had to carry her inside. Jack wasn't home yet. Rose was half-asleep already as he took off her shoes and put her in bed. He considered unbuttoning her dress, for comfort's sake, but decided against it. It would be too invasive. "Do you want me to call Jack?" he asked.

"No…he's…he shouldn't leave…" Her words slurred.

"Do you want me to go?" He didn't think she should he left alone, but if she told him to leave he would. He'd call Jack if he did, though, as much as he didn't want to.

But Rose was deep in sleep and didn't answer.

…

The sound of the door closing woke Cal. He was slumped in a chair, one hand on Rose. Jack called out for her. "Rose? You home?"

Cal met him at the end of the hallway. Jack's eyes narrowed in surprise. "What're you doing here? What happened?" he asked.

"She's alright, but—"

"But what? What happened?" Jack demanded. "Where is she?"

"She's asleep. She—" Jack pushed past him, not caring to hear the rest.

"Oh," Jack breathed. He bent down over her. "Honey-Rose." Even with the bandage he could still see the swollen bruised. He lightly ran his knuckles down the uninjured side.

"Jack," she murmured thickly.

"I'm here."

"It's not so bad. They gave me….pills…for the pain….they make me sleep…." She trailed off.

"Someone threw bottles at her," Cal said. "The protestors—"

"They—Why—" Jack couldn't form words properly. Whenever she was with Cal something happened. She got sick or hurt. That was how they'd met again. It shouldn't be a surprise. It was just one more reason why he should leave her alone. He wasn't good for her. Couldn't he see that? Jack's burst of friendliness toward him was eclipsed by his concern for Rose.

Cal slipped out. When Jack turned to speak, he was surprised to find him gone.

…..

The pills eased the pain, but they made her sick. She couldn't walk without getting dizzy, and more than once Jack had to hold her hair while she threw up. "I don't want to take any more," she said. "It can't hurt as badly as this."

Jack rubbed her back. "You don't have to."

"I don't understand why they're doing this to me," she said. "I've never reacted this way to anything before."

"Maybe you're allergic."

"I didn't think I had any allergies," she said. She wobbled. Jack put an arm around her. "Lean on me," he said.

"You must be regretting the decision to marry me," she said, as she settled back into bed. "I can't go three weeks without some sort of health crisis."

"This wasn't your fault. Rose, someone deliberately hurt you."

"They may have been aiming for Cal. He came out behind me. I didn't know he was there."

"But they knew they might hit you," he argued. "If they wanted him there was a better way to get him."

"You sound like you want him to be hurt."

"I want you not to get hurt," he said. "If they're aiming for him, let them hit him. I don't want you there. You're not part of this. Let him deal with it."

"You don't want me working with him," she said. "That's what you're saying, isn't it?"

"What if I am? What if I asked you not to go back to work? Would you?"

"If you felt strongly about it, I'd quit," she answered.

"I do. With what's been going on, it just—I don't want you getting caught in the middle again," he said. "Rose, these people are serious, and they don't care if you're just a secretary, and you've got nothing to do with the way he runs things." He pulled her closer. "It won't be a bottle next time. It'll be worse."

"I'll quit," she said. "For you, Jack."

"Thank you," he said, sighing in relief.

"I'll have to stat looking for another job as soon as this heals."

"You don't, unless you want to," Jack said. "I—well, I'm making enough now that you don't need one. I can take care of both of us fine."

"Can you, really?"

"Yeah."

"You never said you were being paid that much," she said.

"I knew you liked working there," he replied. "I've been thinking about it, but I didn't wanna pressure you."

"Do you want me to stop working?"

"I want you to be happy," he said. "But I don't want you thinking you hafta find something else. We'll be fine if you can't or don't want to."

Rose's stomach rolled; she closed her eyes. "Can we talk about it later?" she asked. "Please?"

"Sure."

Jack lay down next to her. He put an arm around her and gently rubbed her stomach. "That help?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "Yes."

….

"I want this dealt with," Cal said. His voice was low and menacing. His dark eyes were hard. The men gathered in his office avoided his gaze. "Now, damn it!" he thundered, slamming a fist on his desk. "If you can't handle it, I'll find some people who can."

Early the next morning fights began breaking out among the protestors. The instigators mysteriously vanished before the police arrived. Most of the protestors were arrested. Word was sent back to headquarters, and people hurried in to replace them. Meanwhile, new threats were being sent out. A car sped by and men threw bricks through the windows of their headquarters. No-one was hurt, but every window was broken, and so were two typewriters.

The police stayed around the offices, waiting for the chance to make more arrests. The temperature climbed, and tensions climbed with it. Jack found another threatening note waiting when he left for work. He was starting to doubt Cal was the one behind them. He wouldn't intentionally hurt Rose, not anymore, would he? Getting her hurt and threatening the both of them seemed like too much. He didn't want to leave her, but he didn't have a choice. He hadn't been there long enough to take time off.

Jack came home at lunch, and everything was fine. "I'll be home early," he promised.

"Alright," Rose said cheerfully. "I'll be here."

It happened that night. Rose was in the bathtub. Jack was in the living room drawing. The brick smashed through the window and sailed across the room, barely missing his head. He dropped to the floor. "Jack?" Rose yelled. There was a splash. "What happened?"

"Stay in there!" he called back, just as another brick shattered the other window. Both had notes attached to them.


	12. Chapter 12

"Are you sure you're alright?" Rose asked anxiously. She moved her hands over his chest, feeling for wounds.

"I'm fine," Jack assured her. "The windows are gone, but nothing else is broken."

The curtains kept the night outside, but Rose still felt like they were being watched. Nothing stood between them and the outside world anymore. Anyone could just come in. "Did you see who did it?" she asked.

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"I don't understand this. Why would someone do such a thing? We don't have enemies. Do you think it was just random? A prank of some kind?"

"No," he said. "Rose, why don't we sit down?"

"Do you know something? You _did_ see them, didn't you?"

"I didn't see them," he said. "I have no idea who did this, but I do know something."

"What do you mean?"

Jack held up the notes. "These were on the bricks," he explained.

Rose read them quickly. Her brow furrowed. "I don't understand, Jack. This doesn't make any sense. Why would someone threaten us? We don't have enemies; we aren't important enough to have enemies."

"These aren't the only notes we've gotten. There've been others. Not many," he said. "These are the worst, though."

"What?" was all she could say.

"Rose, I—"

"You didn't tell me? Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.

"I—"

"Did you think it was something I didn't need to know?" Her tone was angry, but her eyes were hurt. "They're talking about both of us, not just you, and even if they weren't, I should still know. If someone is trying to hurt you, I need to know. What if they actually did something? Something worse than this?"

"Rose, please, let me explain," he begged. "Don't get upset."

"Don't tell me what to do!" she cried. "You would be upset if I kept something like this from you. You know you would be."

"I didn't want you to be afraid," he said. "I didn't think anything would actually happen. I thought whoever was doing it just wanted to scare me."

"Why would someone want to scare you?" she asked. He didn't answer. "Why, Jack?"

"I thought it was Cal."

"What?"

"I thought he might be trying to scare me away from you," Jack said. "Maybe he even figured out I knew Ted and some of the people he works with, and it was a convenient way to get rid of me. You know, send some anonymous threats, mostly about you, and I'd run, thinking it was best. And then he'd get you. It's what he wants anyway," he added.

"Do you really think if you left I'd go to him?" Rose said.

"No, I think _he_ thinks you would, even if he didn't have anything to do with this."

"I can't believe this," she said.

"Rose, I'm sorry," he said. He took her hand. "I didn't think we had anything to worry about. I didn't think at all. I figured Cal would do a lot of things, but he wouldn't hurt you, not anymore. He actually loves you," he said, bitterness in his tone.

"Are you the only person allowed to care for me?"

"Of course not," he said. "But I don't want other men loving you the way he does. You can say it isn't true, but I've seen the way he looks at you. He'd be here in a second if he thought he had a half chance with you, and I don't blame him. I get it. I've been there. I took my chance, and I got lucky. Twice, somehow." He squeezed her hand. "I just don't want to always feel like I have to fight someone for you."

"You don't. Why do we keep having to go over this?" she said.

"Because he's still there."

"So, when you thought it was him you just ignored it?"

"Pretty much," he answered. "I thought if I left it alone he'd give up. But I'm not so sure anymore. He wouldn't hurt you. I don't think he'd scare you like this either. He's tried too hard to take care of you."

Rose looked down at their hands. The pain from her injury was back and spreading through her head. It was a dull, cold ache. Her mind spun, trying to take in everything that had just been said, but the pain made focusing difficult. "You should have told me," she said again. "No matter what you though, when it first began, you should have told me, Jack. This doesn't only affect you."

"Rose, I'm sorry. Believe me, I am. I—"

"And even if it was Cal," she went on quietly, "And even if he wouldn't follow through on any of it, I still deserve to know. He's my _friend._ I worked with him; I saw him every day. Next to you, he's the most important person in my life. If he's willing to do something this crazy to try and break us up, I should _know_. I shouldn't be trusting and defending him."

"I wanted to protect you," Jack said. "And what if I was wrong, or you didn't believe me? I thought maybe that's what he wanted, for me to tell you and for you to get angry, maybe angry enough to go to him. It could've just been a way to make me look like the jealous, crazy one. I didn't want to lose you again, Rose. No, I didn't want him around. I still don't really trust him, even if I am glad he's been there for you when you've needed it. Especially when it's his fault." He sighed heavily. "You getting hurt is his fault. Those eight years are his fault. If he'd left us alone, we'dve been together."

"We were together when the ship went down," Rose said. "The water separated us. It's no-one's fault we didn't find each other after we were rescued."

"You wouldn'tve ever been in the water if he hadn't gotten involved," he argued.

"You don't know I would have stayed on that boat," she said. "Jack, I jumped out of it to be with you, not him."

"You knew he was lying."

"So?"

"So, I would've found a way to survive," he said. "You knew me well enough to believe I could."

"I wouldn't have gone either way," she said. "Not without you. You can tell yourself otherwise if it helps you make sense of it, but I wouldn't have stayed in that boat without you. He's the only reason I got into it. I was too flustered to resist. We just lost each other." She blinked away tears. She didn't know which hurt more, her head or her heart. Maybe it was equal.

Gently, Jack touched the uninjured part of her face. "I love you," he said. "You mean more to me than anything. I wasn't trying to hurt you. I wanted to protect you, to protect us." He wiped away a tear. "I'd do anything for you, Rose. I'd stop drawing if you asked me to. I'd forget how. I'd give up the hand I do it with."

"I don't need you to do that," she said. "I don't want you to make sacrifices for me. All I need is to be able to trust you, Jack. I always did, from the first time we met."

"But?" he said, afraid to hear the rest.

"I don't know," she said. "I want to. Knowing you could keep something like this from me…I don't know. My head hurts…I'm going to bed. I can't talk about it anymore tonight."

"I'll figure out a way to patch the windows," he said. "And then I'll come to bed."

"Fine," she said.

…

Jack wanted to hold her. She lay on her side of the bed, with her back to him. They never slept this far apart; they always touched. He wondered if she was awake. Tentatively, he reached out and touched her arm. She didn't move. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her hands were balled into fists around the pillow. Some of the swelling on her face had gone down, but it was still black. Her pain was almost palpable. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Rose?" he whispered.

She whimpered something unintelligible in response.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"There's nothing you can do," she murmured.

She was wrong. There was one thing he could do. Jack hated even thinking about it, but he didn't have a choice.

….

Cal fumbled for the lamp, nearly knocking it over before he managed to turn it on. "Hello?" he said sleepily.

"I need your help."

"What? Who is this?" he said. He blinked a few times, his head clearing. "Dawson?"

"Yeah," Jack said shortly.

"What do you want? It's nearly one. How did you even get this number?"

"Rose has it."

"Oh, right. She does," Cal said. "I forgot. She almost never uses it." In a brisk tone he went on, "What do _you_ need?"

"It's not for me," Jack replied. "It's for her."

"I'm listening."

"She can't take those pills the doctor gave her. They make her sick. She needs something else," Jack said.

"And you called _me_ about this in the middle of the night," Cal said. "Why aren't you handling it?"

"Where am I going to get something like that at this hour?"

"And you think I can?" Cal said.

"Yes," Jack answered. "She's in a lot of pain, and it's your fault. So you need to do this. Stop saying you love her and act like it." He hung up before Cal could respond.

Rose lay on her back, his pillow in her arms. Her eyes opened slightly when Jack came in. "I thought you left," she said.

"No. I just went to get something to help you."

"You did?"

"It'll be here soon," he promised.

"Jack, we have to talk," she said. "We shouldn't wait until tomorrow."

"Not now, Petal," he said. "We can talk tomorrow; it'll be fine. You need to rest."

"I know you thought not telling me was best," she said, ignoring him. "But I wish you had. I still trust you. If something happens I don't want you thinking I don't."

He put an arm around her shoulders. "Nothing's gonna happen."

"It might," she said. "And I need to tell you, it scared me when I found out you were keeping that from me. It made me wonder what else you might keep from me."

"Rose, I've never lied to you," he said. "I won't. All I wanted was to protect you."

"I know. I've been thinking…or trying to. It's like when I was sick and wouldn't tell you. You deserved to know what was going on. I did the same thing."

"I guess we're even then," he said.

"Will it ever get easy?" she asked.

"What?"

"Us."

"Maybe someday," Jack said. "After we've worked at it for a few decades." He tried to keep his tone light. "Loving is easy, thought. I don't even have to try."

…..

Cal was as close to disheveled as Jack had ever seen him. "Did you get it?" he asked.

"I got something," Cal said. He handed him small bottle. "It should help. They're strong. She only needs one or two a day."

"What are they?"

"Some kind of mild opiate. They're not as strong as what she took before. They shouldn't bother her. Perfectly legal too," he said. "Just expensive, especially after midnight."

"I think you can handle it."

Cal stayed behind while Jack went back into the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Here," he said, offering her a pill. "This should help."

"Where did you get it?"

"A friend," he answered. "Don't worry. It won't hurt you."

"I know. I trust you."

The pill _was_ strong. Rose lay back, her pain melting away. It was pure relief with no side effects. "Hold me, Jack?" she said quietly. "Please."

Gently, he put his arms around her. "Go to sleep," he said. "We'll talk more when you wake up." He kissed her, barely brushing his lips across hers.

…..

Cal was still there when Jack came back out. "Redecorating?" he said, indicating the patched windows.

"Funny," Jack said drily.

"What happened?"

Jack fixed him with a stare. "You don't know?"

"No. Am I supposed to?"

"You don't know anything about it?" Jack said.

"No," Cal replied, annoyed. "Why are you questioning me?"

"I just thought you might. Someone broke them earlier tonight. They threw bricks with notes attached to them."

"Threats?"

"Yes," Jack said.

"And you think it was me?" Cal said.

"I don't know what to think," Jack said. "It's been going on for a while. Someone's been threatening me and Rose if I don't stay away from her."

Cal's gaze didn't waver. "I wouldn't hurt her."

"I believe that, but who knows? I never thought I'd see her again, either."

"If I wanted you gone," Cal said quietly, "You would be. I don't play petty games. You should remember that."

"I remember you'll do pretty much anything to get what you want."

"I don't want a grieving Rose. I don't want to be her consolation," Cal said. "I don't want to be the man she settles for because she doesn't want to be alone. I could have had that already."

…

It was after three when Rose woke up. Her head felt clear and remarkably pain-free. The curtains in the bedroom were closed, keeping it almost as dark as night. There was no sign of Jack.

The light in the bathroom seemed lighter than usual. Rose looked at herself in the mirror. She almost didn't recognize the face looking back at her. Carefully, she removed the bandage. The stitches were small, but it was hard to believe the assurance that it wouldn't scar.

Rose was dressed and freshly bandaged when Jack arrived. He met her in the hallway. "You're up," he said, putting his hands on her arms. "I hoped you'd still be asleep. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I feel much better, actually. I don't know what you gave me last night, but it certainly helped."

"I would've helped you put on a new bandage."

"It's fine. It wasn't hard," she said. "Where did you go?"

"I had to go the office," he explained. "Some things needed to be done, so I won't have to go in tomorrow. I didn't mean to be gone so ling. You were sleeping so good I thought leaving you alone would be okay, if I hurried."

"You don't have to explain, Jack. I'm sure I was perfectly safe. What can happen during the day?"

 _A lot,_ he thought. But there hadn't been anyone to stay with her, and not going to work at all wasn't an option.

"You're fixing the windows?" she said, noticing the stack of wood and toolbox in the living room.

"Yeah. I called and had the wood and glass delivered this morning. Borrowed some tools from one of the neighbors."

"Really? And you can fix it?" she asked, impressed.

"I think so. I haven't done much carpentry work, but I know a little about it," he said. "This should be simple."

"Do you need any help?"

"I can do it. You should rest."

She smiled wryly. "I've had plenty of rest, Jack. Do you mind if I watch instead?"

"I don't mind. It might get a little loud," he warned.

"I'll be alright," she said.

…..

Fixing the windows _was_ fairly easy. Jack was surprised by how well he handled the task. It was only a few hours before he was fitting in the new glass. "It's like it never happened," Rose said. The new wood didn't match the rest, though. "Almost," she added.

"It's not too bad," Jack agreed.

"Jack, we need to talk about what happened last night," she said, motioning for him to sit down. "I said some things badly. I was afraid and angry."

"You had a right to be. I was scared too," he said. "We didn't know what else might happen."

"I felt like I couldn't trust you after you told me everything that's been going on. I didn't like that feeling. I hate that feeling, in fact. I didn't know how to handle it. I think that scared me more than anything else."

"I didn't think anything would happen," he said. "I took some precautions, but I didn't believe them."

"I know. You did what you thought was best," she said. "I don't remember everything I said last night. Everything after I went to bed is a bit hazy, so forgive me if I repeat myself."

"So formal," he said.

"Formality can be a refuge," Rose replied. "It helps you articulate difficult things." She looked into his eyes. "Do you really think Cal was behind this?"

"I don't know," Jack said. "At first, I did, but I'm not sure he'd do something like this, and after we talked last night—"

"Last night?" she said. "Is the friend you called?"

"Yes. I didn't know who else to ask. I couldn't think of anyone else we know who could get something like that so late and so quickly."

"So you called him?" she said, not quite believing.

"You needed it. I called him for you."

"What was that like?" she asked.

"Awful. I hate doing it. I don't like hi,."

"You never will," she said, shaking her head.

"Hey, he doesn't like me either," Jack said, trying to make it a joke. "I don't mind. He helped you, and that's what matters. He got you hurt, but at least he helped."

"I need you to tell me everything, Jack. I don't care how bad it is or how insignificant it seems," she said. "You can't keep anything else from me. I can't trust you if we don't share everything. You can't trust me either, if we don't."

"I'll tell you everything, Rose. I promise."

"Do you have any other ideas about what's going on?"

"Maybe," he said. "It might have something to do with Ted. Some people who don't like what he's doing might think I'm involved. It doesn't have to be Cal. He makes a lot of enemies."

"But you aren't, involved, right?" she said.

"No. I got out as soon as I found you. It wasn't worth the risk. This situation is exactly what I wanted to avoid." He sighed. "I should probably go talk to Ted, find out if anything else's happened."

"I should talk to Cal," she said.

"I don't want you going back there. It's not safe."

"And it's safe for you to see Ted?" Rose said. "I don't know what's being done to end the strike, but I'm sure it isn't pleasant. And if he has even more enemies, that's all the more reason not to go there."

"This is so stupid," Jack said, frustrated. "We're not part of any of this."

"We know the wrong people."

"I don't want you going back to that office," he said. "Something worse'll happen."

"I don't want you going to theirs."

They stared at each other for a moment. "What if I meet Ted somewhere safe?" he said. "Somewhere public, out in the daylight? We can just talk for a few minutes. What can happen?"

"A lot," she said.

"We gotta do something," he said. "Unless you want to just pack up and leave."

"That isn't a bad idea."

"Leaving?"

"Maybe we should," Rose said. "Not leave, but move. We wouldn't go so far you couldn't keep your job."

"We can look into it, if you want."

"What if we both did our meeting in public?" she said. "Tomorrow."

"You'd go by yourself?" he said.

"You intend to go alone, don't you?"

"I guess so," he said.

"We'll straighten everything out. We'll get to the bottom of things," she said matter-of-factly.

It was easily said, but what happened next would be far from easy.


	13. Chapter 13

They were on the beach. The tide was beginning to come in, and the sky blazed with color. Jack looked up at it and imagined painting it. He would use watercolors. He saw the blending of each color, slowly working until it was perfect. Rose lay next to him. Her bare foot nudged his. "You're awfully quiet," she said.

"I was thinking about painting the sky," he said. "The way it is right now."

"It's beautiful," she said. "I didn't know you had any interest in landscapes." There was laughter in her voice.

"I always appreciated them," he replied. "I just didn't do many. I was more interested in people, their stories, you know?"

"It's too bad you don't have your supplies with you."

"Yeah, it is," he agreed. "I could draw you under that sky."

"Me? Why?" She feigned shock. "Haven't you done that enough?"

Jack bent down and kissed her. "Never."

She replied, but her voice was faint. She began fading before his eyes. "Rose!" he cried, reaching for her. Blackness swallowed him. He heard voices. "He's coming around," one of them said.

 _No,_ he protested silently. He had to go back to Rose. He couldn't leave her alone there. The darkness cleared, and he was on the beach again. Rose looked at him with concerned eyes. "Where did you go?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said.

She put an arm around him. "Don't leave me, Jack."

"I won't," he promised.

…

The bed was too big. Rose couldn't forget it wasn't hers. She lay on what would have been her side, clutching Jack's pillow. It smelled like him. She pulled his shirt sleeves over her hands. She wanted to be covered by him, or by as much of him as possible. Rose closed her eyes and replayed the last time she saw him. "Two hours," he said. "And then this'll be over."

"Two hours," she repeated.

He gave her an affectionate squeeze. "Don't worry, Honey-Rose. It'll be alright."

It had been two days since he said that, nearly three, and there was no sign of him. She looked up as the door opened, half-expecting it to be Jack. It was Cal. "Are you awake?" he asked quietly.

"I'm awake."

He sat down on the edge of the bed. "If I bring something up here, will you eat it?" he asked.

"Probably not," she said.

"At least you're honest. But Rose, you have to eat." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Jack would want you to."

A lump filled her throat. "I know," she said. "But I can't."

"Starving yourself won't help us find him."

"Have you heard anything new?"

"No," he said, shaking his head regretfully. "I've got more men on it. We'll find him." Cal wasn't sure if it wouldn't be better if they didn't. He hadn't said so to Rose—he wouldn't dare—but he didn't expect to find Jack alive, if they found him at all. So far, few people had been rescued. The odds weren't in his favor. Jack had survived too much already. _Titanic_. The War. He hadn't even been in the War. His luck might finally have run out. Cal shuddered to think what condition he would be in if they found him. Rose shouldn't be exposed to that.

Cal didn't relish the thought of telling her Jack was gone. Her grief was already difficult to watch. He hated the pain she was in and didn't want to see her in any more. If Jack had to reappear, why couldn't he have stayed around longer? Rose stared at the wall, a blank expression on her face. If Jack wasn't alive somewhere, Cal wondered if she would ever recover.

He would take care of her, just as he was doing now. He would love her. But any happiness he found in it would be bittersweet. Cal meant it when he said he didn't want to be her consolation prize. He wanted to be the one she chose. He wanted to be the man she loved, freely, happily.

"I'll go," he offered.

"No, stay," Rose said. "I don't want to be alone."

"Alright."

"I have nightmares when I sleep. I dream about what might have happened to him," she said. "Do you remember when you first came out here, and you had nightmares all the time?"

"I remember," he said. How could he forget? Sometimes he still had them.

"Do you remember those times you came over to my apartment to sleep?"

"Yes. It helped."

"Do you think you could do that for me?" Rose asked. She looked up at him. "Please?"

Cal lay down beside her. "Of course I will," he said. They were almost touching. He wanted to put his arms around her, hold her, and tell her it would be fine, but he didn't. He turned so their backs pressed together. He put his hand out, and she found it.

….

They lounged in the bathtub. The other tenants wouldn't be happy about it, but Jack didn't care. Let them find another bathroom. Rose was wet and slippery in his lap. He wrapped his legs around her. He wouldn't dream of getting out yet.

"This is nice," Rose said.

"We should do this more often."

"I've never taken a bath with another person," she said.

"Neither have I."

She turned to look at him. "Really?"

"Yeah. Did you think I went around jumping in tubs with girls?" he said jokingly.

"I don't know. You've done a lot, certainly more than I have."

"Not that much, not like that," Jack replied. "And it's only you from now on."

Rose kissed his hands. "I'm glad it's only been you."

"Who else would it've been?"

"Well, Cal wanted…he was rather persistent," she said. "And I was going to marry him, eventually."

"You're gonna marry me," Jack said.

She smiled. "I am? When?"

"When do you want to?"

"Today," she said.

"Alright. Today it is." He buried his face in her curls. "It hasn't been just four weeks, has it?"

"It has," Rose answered. "I feel like I've known you forever, though."

"Maybe you have."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"We were meant to be together," he said. "You feel it, don't you, Rose?"

"I feel it."

…..

Jack fought all their efforts to wake him. He didn't understand what was happening. He just knew something kept trying to take him away from Rose. The more they tried to pull him out, the tighter he held on. He'd already lost time with her. He wasn't sure exactly how or when, but he sensed it. The calendar said it had only been four weeks. His memory agreed. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened. They'd been apart, and now he had the chance to make up for it.

Jack recognized the tiny apartment. It was the one he had lived in in New York, right after the sinking. Only, to him, that time was still going on.

…

Dr. Bronson—Nick—shook his head and sighed. He was middle-aged, with dark blonde hair. "I don't know what to do with him," he said.

His assistant, a Dr. Perkins—David—offered a shrug. "We can't wake him up. We've tried. The whole team's tried."

"We'll keep him here," Dr. Bronson said. "Maybe someone will identify him." That wasn't likely at present. Jack was a mass of cuts and bruises. His head and face were heavily bandaged. He would have been unrecognizable to anyone who came looking for him.

"He's lucky to be alive," David said, not for the first time.

"Is he?" Nick said. "If he stays like this, I wonder."

"You shouldn't talk like that."

"You're right," Nick said, after a pause. "I'm just getting cynical. After all, he might wake up."

…

The blast destroyed half the block. Most of the people in the neighboring buildings managed to survive, but only a few of those in the Headquarters made it out. There were still dozens trapped under the rubble, waiting to be rescued. Rose was sure Jack was among them. He had to be. But he was outside when it happened. The impact threw him into the air. He landed down the street, where he was found and taken to a charity ward, in a hospital on the other side of town.

It was an accident. At first, Cal feared his mean were involved, but this, they informed him, was too much. In fact, it was a gas leak that started in the basement. Someone was supposed to fix it, but no-one took the time to make sure it actually happened.

The disaster was national news. The city reeled in horror. Cal hired back all the workers and agreed to anything they wanted. He funded the rescue effort; the first crew was sent in by him, before any volunteers stepped forward. He gave money for the treatment of the injured and to the families.

He was with Rose when it happened. They heard the explosion. The building shook. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the floor. He lay on her, shielding her with his body. They assumed it was an earthquake, but when nothing else happened, they got up; they laughed at their fear.

"I'll take you home," Cal offered.

"You don't have to do that," Rose said. "I can make it on my own."

"At least, let me walk you outside."

"Fine," she said.

"I really am sorry about all of this," he said. "I never wanted you hurt."

"I know you didn't, but if it wasn't me then it would have been someone else. Cal, you can't do these things. You can't have other people do them for you. Don't you see that?"

"I'll make it stop," he promised, again.

"Thank you."

They barely made it outside before the news reached them. Rose gasped. Her eyes widened in fear. "Jack!" she cried.

"He's fine." Cal took her hand. "Come on. We'll find him."

But they didn't.

…

"She hasn't eaten a thing," Tillie, the younger of the two maids said. Her chestnut curls shook with each movement. "Not a thing."

Margaret, a slightly older girl with black hair and an Irish accent, said, "Of course she had. She'd be dead if she hadn't."

"Well, I'll have you know-"

Tillie was cut off by Agatha, the cook. She was a good-looking, middle-aged woman. "Stop gossiping about Miss Rose," she ordered. "The poor girl has enough problems. She doesn't need you two hens pecking at her." Agatha had worked for the Hockley family for over twenty years. She remembered Rose from her engagement to Cal. She was the only member of the staff to come out West with him.

"We weren't gossiping," Tillie said indignantly. "Can't we discuss what goes on in the house?"

"No," Agatha replied. "Now, take this up to her."

"She won't eat it," Tillie argued. "It's been two weeks, and she won't eat anything."

When she was gone, Margaret said, "Is it true? Has she eaten?"

"She hasn't eaten much," Agatha answered. "She barely gets out of bed. That room is like a tomb. She won't let anyone open the curtains."

"Do you think she's—" Margaret hesitated. "Crazy?"

"No, dear, I think she's just sad," Agatha said. "Neither of you knew her before, when she was going to marry Mr. Hockley. She was sad then, but this is different."

"I heard something about that. Why didn't she?"

"She didn't want to," Agatha shrugged. "It was a big scandal. She ran away. I'm surprised you two haven't talked about it."

"Why's she so close to him now?"

"You can't really understand," Agatha said. "He was such a different person back then. Having her around has been good for him. He needs her."

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Margaret asked.

"Maybe. She needs time."

…..

Rose lay facing the wall. The house was silent. It stayed cool even in the California heat. It had taken a few days for her to realize she was in Cal's room. It had taken a few days for her to wake up enough to have any idea where she was. Whatever they'd given her, it was effective.

When they made it to the site, or as close as they could get, Rose started screaming. Her heart didn't beat anymore, or at least, she couldn't feel it. She couldn't move. She didn't know how she ended up on the ground. She was screaming and crying, and Cal was trying to keep her from hurting herself. She remembered him carrying her, somehow, as she struggled. And then the warmth of the drug, the sleepiness. "Jack," she chanted, as the darkness took over.

"I'll find him," Cal promised. "Go to sleep. I'll find him."

Now she imagined every sound was him approaching. He would find her, of course. Any second now, he would appear.

…

They sat in the park, protected by a tree's shade. Jack drew, and Rose watched. It didn't take long for him to finish a rough sketch, and that was mostly all he had time for. People moved quickly.

"Draw them," she urged, nodding toward a young couple. "I like them. They remind me of us."

"Alright."

Jack drew quickly, wanting to finish before the couple left, but they remained where they were, as if they knew what he was doing and wanted to help.

"I love watching you draw," she said. "I wish I could do it."

"Maybe you can."

"No," she replied. "I've tried. It didn't turn out well. You should draw us next," she added. "So I can have a picture of you."

"Why would you need one when you got me right here?" he asked.

"If I didn't—"

Her words filled him with dread. He felt the lightness again, and everything began fading. Jack grabbed her and held on. Soon, the world fell back into place. What did she mean, if she didn't have him? She would always have him.

…

The excavation was drawing to an end. Nearly everyone had been recovered, and they had actually rescued people long after they stopped hoping to. But not Jack. So far, they hadn't found anyone who even looked like him, but that didn't mean much. Most people outside the building who were injured had all been taken to the main city hospital and then transferred elsewhere for lack of space. Cal put a description of Jack in the newspaper, but so far, no-one had responded. He didn't have a photo of him. He went to their apartment, hoping to find one, but he couldn't bring himself to look. Their life together was too vivid. He feared disturbing it.

Rose asked him to sleep next to her again, after the first time, and he slept with her every night from then on. Back to back, they held hands. She still had nightmares, but she went back to sleep more easily now. "You almost feel like him," she said.

…..

Rose sat up when he came in. "Hello," she said quietly. Cal sat on the edge of the bed. He glanced at the untouched food. "You need to eat more," he said. His voice was gently reproving. "This isn't good for you, Rose."

"I'm not hungry."

"I know you don't feel like it, but you are," he said. "You need to eat." Her hair hung limply around her face. She hadn't washed it in days. She hadn't taken off Jack's shirt either.

Rose felt his gaze. "Nothing matters anymore," she said. "I wake up, and he isn't here, and I just don't care about anything."

"Rose, you have to care," he said. " _You're_ still here. Jack wouldn't want you giving up, would he?" He touched her hand. "I wish I had news for you, but I don't."

"I didn't expect any," she said. Her eyes met his. "They won't find him, will they?"

"I don't know."

"Cal, please, tell me the truth."

"It isn't likely," he said. "If we do, he'll probably be…." He couldn't say it.

Rose closed her eyes. She folded in on herself. The tears fell slowly at first, silently building up to the sobs that came next. Her body shook. She gasped for breath. Each sob ripped out of her, as if the act of crying hurt as much as the loss. Cal held her, gathering her against him. She didn't struggle this time. She didn't have the strength anymore. She felt like a rag doll in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Rose, I'm so sorry."

Watching her pain was worse than feeling it himself. He never wanted anything like this to happen. He'd sworn it wouldn't; he would protect her. But he couldn't protect her from this. He couldn't have stopped or foreseen it. It was his fault, though, and he knew it. Better, he thought, for Jack to have never come back, if this was the outcome.


	14. Chapter 14

A month passed, and still there was no sign of Jack. Rose's condition worsened with each day that went by, until finally, she woke up and realized she hadn't eaten in over a week. Her stomach ached, and for the first time since Jack disappeared, she wanted food. She devoured the breakfast that was already waiting for her. It wasn't enough, but she wasn't ready to leave the room yet. She could press a button and summon a servant who would bring more food-anything she wanted-but Rose wasn't comfortable doing that anymore.

The bathroom was so white it made her eyes hurt. It was as if she were seeing it for the first time. The tub that could easily hold three, the large sink with Cal's things arranged perfectly around it, the mirror. The woman she saw in it wasn't herself. Those sunken eyes, red-rimmed from crying, the lank, dirty hair, the clothes that were suddenly much too big, She didn't look like that. Jack called her beautiful. He wouldn't think so now.

Rose filled the tub to the brim. The water burned, but she plunged in anyway. She lay, staring at the ceiling for a long time before finally letting her face go underwater.

…

"She isn't up there," Tillie announced, hurrying into the kitchen.

Agatha gave her a sharp look. "What do you mean she isn't up there?"

"I mean she isn't up there. I took the lunch tray up, just like always, but she was gone! She ate breakfast, though, ate everything on the tray. First time she's done that."

"Maybe she went home," Margaret suggested. "Is there really any reason to worry?"

"Shouldn't we tell someone?" Tillie asked.

Cal already knew. He was making the discovery as Tillie was relating it to the others. Her shoes were gone; the bed was made; the towels she'd used had been carefully hung up to dry. There were red hairs in his comb.

Cal's first reaction was astonishment. All these weeks of depressed inertia, and now, so much activity all in one morning. Why? What could have caused it? Panic began to set in. If she hadn't told anyone she was leaving or where she was going, that must mean she didn't want to be followed, and if she didn't want to be followed-"Goddamn it," he said. "I should've…She wouldn't..." It never occurred to him to have anyone watch her or even to stay with her all day himself. Rose wasn't the type to harm herself. Except, she wasn't exactly herself lately, was she? Cal realized he couldn't be sure what she would do anymore.

…..

Everything was just as they'd left it. The breakfast dishes, washed and left to dry next to the sink, still waited to be put away. The milk had gone bad. The bread was hard and changing color. Rose left it all as it was. Jack's pencils were out on the table in the living room, next to his sketchbook. They were sharp and ready for use. A fine layer of dust coated the room. Books, long overdue by now, were stacked by the couch.

Rose paused outside the bedroom. Since her bath the word had taken on a hazy, dreamlike quality, but as she moved through the apartment it started becoming solid again. This might be too much. It was the only room left. If he wasn't in there-she shoved the thought away.

The bed was made. A glass of water was still on the bedside table. It was half-full. Rose heard herself asking Jack for it. She remembered kissing him and settling back into his arms. She went over to the closet. Their clothes hung neatly, side by side. She ran her hand across his shirts. They felt warm, almost as if he were still in them. Rose knew that was impossible. She tried not to indulge the fantasy. She took one out and pressed her face against it. She smelled him, faintly, but it was enough. A lump formed in her throat. "Jack." She dissolved in tears. Clutching it, she slid to the floor.

She was still there when Cal found her. "Rose!" he cried. She looked up for; for a moment his voice sounded like Jack's. "What are you doing?" he asked. He sat down next to her. He moved his hands over her arms, checking for injuries. "I was worried sick about you," he said.

"I don't know why I came back there," she said. "I thought maybe he-" She choked back a sob. "That's crazy, I know, but I just can't believe he's really gone." A fresh wave of tears overtook her. Cal put his arms around her. "I know," he said. "I'd bring him back for you if I could."

"I don't know how to live without him again."

"You'll figure out a way. Rose, you'll get through this," he said. "It takes time."

"I won't," Rose said, shaking her head. "I can't. I don't want to."

Her words were chilling. "Rose, you shouldn't talk like that. Jack wouldn't want you thinking that way. He wouldn't ever want you to hurt yourself."

"He'd get over it," she said.

Cal held her face in his hands. "Don't say that. Rose, don't you ever say that. He loved you. I know how much he loved you, and I know he'd want you to keep living. That's the kind of person he was." He wiped away her tears. " _I_ love you. I can't make the pain go away, but I _can_ stop you from doing something foolish because of it."

"I can't stay here," Rose said.

"You don't have to."

"Can I come back with you?" she asked.

"You know you can," he said.

"I need some things," she said. She looked around. "Clothes and...I'm not sure what else, actually."

"You don't have to hurry," Cal said. "Get whatever you need."

Rose wrapped her arms around him. Hugging him tightly, she said, "I can't do this by myself. Not again. It's so much worse this time."

Cal kissed her hair. "You don't have to."

…..

He gave her a bouquet of pom daisies. They were the best he could afford. "I know they're not-" he began.

"They're perfect," Rose said. "I love them."

"Are they good enough to get married with/"

"I said perfect, didn't I?"

Jack smiled as she took his hand. "I'm sorry you didn't have a ring earlier, but-" He took a box from his pocket. "You do now."

Rose gasped. "How did you get this?"

"That's my secret." Jack slid it onto her finger. It was only a plain silver band. "I wouldn't marry you without a ring," he said. "It wouldn't be right."

Rose kissed him. "I can't believe this is really happening. I'm marrying _you_."

He pulled her closer. "Believe it, Honey-Rose. It's really happening."

They didn't take their eyes off each other during the ceremony. Rose had never looked more beautiful. Her hair fell softly around her face. Jack took her hands before he was supposed to. The kiss lasted so long the clerk had to tap Jack on the shoulder and ask them to leave.

"Well, good afternoon, Mr. Dawson," Rose said, as they went outside.

"And good afternoon to you, Mrs. Dawson." He put an arm around her waist. "Feel any different?"

"I didn't think I could be any happier than I already was. I might burst. Does that count?" she asked.

"I'll burst with you," Jack said. "I never thought I'd even get married."

"Never?"

Jack shook his head. "Never. I didn't think I'd ever meet a woman I'd want to marry. I didn't know I could love someone this much."

Rose smiled up at him. She blinked away tears. "I never thought I could love someone this much either," she said.

"Why're you crying, Rose?"

"I don't know. Maybe so I don't burst," she said.

Jack kissed her; it was soft and sweet. "I always heard people cry at weddings, but I didn't understand why."

"It's not the sort of crying I expected to be doing at my wedding," Rose replied.

He kissed her again. "C'mon. I'm taking you for a wedding lunch."

"Can we dance?"

"We'll dance," he promised.

…..

"I saw that you ate breakfast," Cal said.

"I was hungry when I woke up," Rose said. She sank into the nearest chair. The light in the study was harsh after so many days in semi-darkness. She squinted against it. Without a word, Cal closed the drapes. "You didn't have to do that," she said.

"The light was hurting your eyes."

"My eyes should get used to it," she replied. She looked down at her hands. "I don't know how I'll get used to this. I thought things would be different. I thought Jack would always be here."

"I know you did. I thought so too."

"I suppose I should feel lucky," Rose said. "I got to have more time with him. It wasn't enough, though. We were supposed to do so much together." She breathed slowly, trying to keep the tears back.

Cal sat down in the chair opposite hers. "What were you going to do?" he asked gently.

"We were going to leave. Travel. You knew that. When we had the money, and things were calm, and I wasn't sick in bed, we were going to finally travel, the way we always planned," she whispered. "Jack had this idea that he would sell drawings, and I would make clothes to sell. It probably doesn't sound like much to you, but it was a nice dream to us."

"No, it sounds nice," Cal said.

"You're just trying to make me feel better. You don't mean that. You don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying," he said. "I wouldn't want to be poor. I don't want to be poor. I doubt I'd be good at it."

"You'd never survive."

"I appreciate your confidence," he said. "But if I were with you, it wouldn't be so bad. Being with the person you love is worth whatever you have to go through. I'm not talking about us," he added. "I'm not thinking of this as some ordeal we have to get through or the prelude to us being together."

"I never thought you were," she said. "I don't think quite so little of you, Cal. Anymore, that is."

His mouth turned up in a half-smile. "Good to know."

Rose's body ached. All she wanted was to get back into bed and stay there. She wasn't sure if the ache in her middle was from hunger, missing Jack, or something else. It was all three, in fact. "Do you mind if I go back upstairs?"

"Rose, you're free to do anything you want. Except hurt yourself," Cal said. "I won't allow that. I can't." He tried to say it lightly but failed. He knew nothing would make her smile, but he couldn't help trying. Her pain was so deep; he didn't know how to handle it. How had she stood him when he first arrived in Los Angeles? When he was nothing but a raw nerve, anxiety-ridden, and unable to sleep alone? His love for her hit him all over again. No-one else would have taken care of him the way she had; no-one else could have. He would do his best for her, no matter how inadequate that was compared to Jack.

"Will you come up later?" Rose asked. "Unless you'd rather not. I can sleep in another room. I know you have plenty."

"I'll be up in a few hours," he said. "There are some things I need to do first."

"Thank you."

"You don't have to say that," he said.

…

"Where are we going?" Rose asked.

"Wherever this train takes us," Jack replied.

"You mean, you don't know its destination?"

He shook his head. "I have no idea." Jack watched her face as his words sank in.

"We jumped on a train, without tickets, and we don't know where it's going?" she said incredulously.

"That's right, Rose-Petal."

Rose sat down on a crate. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I must be crazy. Jack, what if we get caught?"

"We won't get caught," he assured her. "I've done this lotsa times, in different countries. It's safe. Trust me."

"You know I trust you," she said. "It's just a lot at once. Stealing transportation, not knowing where we'll end up. But that's what makes it so thrilling, isn't it?"

Jack nodded. "I think so."

"What do you think your life would be like if you hadn't left Wisconsin?" Rose asked.

"Dull," he replied.

"Jack, I'm serious. What would you be doing?"

"Working on my family's farm, most likely," he said. "It would probably be mine by now, or maybe I'd have my own place. I'd be married; I might have kids. That's a weird thought."

"Was there a girl, back there?"

"Not really. I was just getting to that age when I left. I noticed a few girls, but nothing ever happened. The most I ever did was walk Susan Whitby home from school one day."

"Maybe you would have married her," Rose said.

Jack looked into her eyes. "I'd rather have married you."

She smiled. In a serious tone she said, "I'm not glad you lost your family, but I am glad you left."

"Me too. I guess everything happens for a reason."

….

Jack had been moved downstairs into a long-term care ward. His hair had been dirty when he first arrived, the blonde locks caked with blood, dust, and ashes. The clerk who typed out his paperwork listed him as "dark brown, possibly black haired" because he was in a rush and didn't wait for it to be washed. His skin, already brown from the sun, seemed even darker in the white, antiseptic rooms. His eyes, once such a brilliant blue, were now dull and almost grey.

By the time the description of Jack began circulating he'd been filed away as someone who didn't resemble him at all. It wasn't anyone's fault, really. The hospital was understaffed and overrun with patients even before the disaster. The staff meant well, and he was certainly cared for, but when asked about any blonde men they referred the searchers to five patients, none of whom were Jack. With his layers of bandages, only Rose could have found him.

Slowly he began to recover. The bandages started coming off. Tiny, pink scars criss-crossed his hands. A deep scar ran down the left side of his face. Part of his hair had been shaved off. He had more scars on his back and arms. He looked battle-weary. The nurses all fell in love with him. His wedding ring had been cut off, and the pieces were misplaced. He'd briefly entertained the idea of tattooing Rose's name on his arm, but he decided against it. He wasn't sure she would approve. Had he done it they would most likely have found him. Or, if Rose had been part of the search team. But she wasn't. It was too much for her. She tried. It sent her into a panic. The fear of discovering him, already dead, overwhelmed her, and seeing the other victims broke her heart even further.

Now she no longer expected to find him, in any condition. It was best, she decided, after that day in the apartment, to find a way to go on. Somehow.

….

"I can't stay here," Rose said.

"Do you want to go back-"

"No," she said. "I mean I can't stay in Los Angeles. It reminds me too much of Jack. I came here because of him, to be closer to him, but now...All I can think about is the life we won't have together, the few months we got, and how he…" Rose trailed off.

"Where do you want to go?" Cal asked.

"It doesn't matter. Anywhere. Somewhere far away," she replied. "I need to put some distance between me and what happened. I don't want to forget. I could never forget, but if I'm going to keep living, I have to go somewhere new."

"Alone?"

Rose looked at him. "That's up to you. Do you want to keep spending your time with a grieving widow?"

"I want to keep helping my friend," he said.

"You've done too much already."

In fact, he was doing more than he realized. It was his money that was paying for Jack's care.

"Nonsense. I've barely done anything," Cal said. "Letting you stay here, giving you food? That's nothing."

"And the searches, the rescue effort," she reminded him. "The money for the victims."

Cal waved her words away. "It's still nothing. It's just money."

"I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Well, I never thought I'd say it. Or mean it," he said. "But I do. Money isn't what saved me on the ship or in France. It made going crazy easier. I didn't have to worry about anything real. I'm sure that's a luxury most men with my problem didn't have."

"It's true. Your problems were quite real, even so," she said. "I don't know if I ever told you, but I'm glad you made it through that. I'm glad I get to know this version of you. I could never have survived this alone."

If not for me, he thought, none of it would have happened. That wasn't entirely true, and Rose knew that. Jack would still have known the same people. The strike would still have been opposed, if not by Cal then by someone else, some other rich businessman. The explosion was an accident. She didn't waste energy blaming anyone for it. Blame and anger wouldn't bring him back.

"I can't go back East," Cal said.

"Neither can I," Rose agreed.

"Canada?"

"What's in Canada?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"It's too cold," she said. "And too much like America, even if they do speak French."

"No more French," he said. "No more France. The whole country's nothing but a trench now."

Rose went over to the globe. "Let's forget about Europe." She spun it. Her finger landed on a distant continent. "Australia," she said.

"You want to go to Australia?"

"Yes," she said.

…

A week later they sailed out of San Francisco. Jack slept on, dreaming of her, never realizing the version he held wasn't real, and the real Rose was getting further and further away by the minute. Rose tried to be calm, if nothing else. She told herself it was for the best. The journey would help heal the loss. As the ship moved away from the shore, she stood on deck, looking back at it from the very spot where she first met Jack.


	15. Chapter 15

Everyone on the ship assumed they were married. They didn't bother correcting them. Rose barely left their suite during the first few days. Cal went out for walks. He tried to socialize, but it didn't work. He didn't know any of the other passengers, and he found he didn't care if he got to know them. They were in First Class; he wouldn't have it any other way. Rose grudgingly agreed it was the best place to be during an emergency. That was something she tried not to think about. If she let herself know she was on a ship, truly know it, she began to panic. It also didn't seem right to be onboard without Jack. More than anywhere else, ships were their place.

The ship made Cal nervous, but he hid it. The memories of the sinking were there, but mostly it reminded him of sailing for France. The accommodations were quite different, but his mind kept going there anyway. He steeled himself against it. No more. He was over that. He'd fallen apart, and he'd been put back together. Rose put him back together, better than he was before. Now it was his turn to do the same for her.

She slept easier now. They still shared a bed. When he tried to go to his room she asked him to stay. "I know it sounds strange," Rose said. "But I like having you here."

"I'll stay if you want me to."

"It isn't asking too much?" she said. "I haven't been having nightmares lately. It's selfish to want someone else, just to have them there. To want you here so I don't feel alone."

"You aren't alone, Rose," Cal said. "It's no more than you did for me."

"Yes, maybe, but you—" Rose cut herself off, avoiding his gaze. But what? He was in love with her? Had been wishing for the chance to hold her?

"That doesn't matter," he said.

"Of course it does."

Cal shook his head. "No, it doesn't. I won't deny how I feel. I never have. But I'm not trying to turn this into something more. I told you that already. I meant it."

"I trust you. It isn't that," she said. "This, it must be difficult for you. It isn't fair."

He shrugged. "What's fair?"

Cal also couldn't deny he enjoyed being close to her. Her grief was still sharp, but she was beginning to heal. It would be a long time before she came back to herself, if she ever did, but she ate without having to be reminded to, and she got out of bed, even if she never left the suite. That was progress. He was grateful for it. He wanted her to be happy and whole again, but he didn't want her to stop needing him entirely. He didn't think anything would come of their situation, but sometimes, for a moment, he let himself wonder, what if? Maybe it was supposed to go this way. It sounded better than saying it was all change or coincidence. At least this explanation gave the tragedy in both their lives meaning.

Rose didn't dream at all anymore. She didn't know if seeing Jack in nightmares that left her crying and breathless was better than not seeing him at all. She worried he was already fading from her memory. She only had two photos of him. They were together in one of them. They looked at each other instead of the camera, their hands clasped. They were happy, carefree, obviously in love. In the other photo Jack was alone. He faced the camera, but he looked past it, into the future. Their future. He smiled, but his eyes were serious, as if he saw something that made him uneasy.

Rose wondered what went through his mind at that moment. Had he sensed their time together would be cut short again? She studied it, committing his features to memory all over again, so they wouldn't disappear forever. There was no-one else to remember him. No-one else who cared he'd existed. If she forgot him, it would be like he hadn't lived at all. Rose couldn't bear that.

…

Rose ignored the pain at first. It wasn't so bad. She'd dealt with worse, and for a few days she assumed it was grief. Gradually, it worsened, and she had to admit it wasn't going away. The bottles of medication she brought with her hadn't been touched. She couldn't remember the last time she'd taken any. She didn't even remember packing it. Cal must have, or he told the maid to include it. She was surprised by how thoroughly he packed her trunk. Clothes. Shoes. Perfume. Lotion. Soap. Her notebooks. Her favorite books. Her favorite blanket. And at the bottom of the trunk, in a separate box, she found Jack's things. Drawings. Shirts. Notes he'd written her. The photographs. His pillow. It wasn't much, but it was all she had left of him. Or so she thought.

Cal saw her take the pills during lunch. "Is it bothering you again?" he asked.

"A little," Rose admitted. "It isn't so bad. I haven't been taking these the way I'm supposed to."

"Do they help?"

"Mostly," she replied. "I think what they really do is help with the pain. I'm not sure anything can be done about my condition. The doctor explained things—" She shook her head. "I'll have it for the rest of my life. Unless I do something about it."

"What do you mean? Why haven't you done something?"

"It would mean….removing that part of me…." she said slowly. "I wasn't sure I could do that. Jack wanted me to. He said all that mattered was keeping me healthy. I wanted us to try and have a baby first, even though they said it would be difficult, if not impossible. I just thought we should at least try."

"I understand," Cal said. "I agree with him, though."

"I suppose it doesn't matter now."

"Of course it does," he said. "Rose, you still have to take care of yourself. You know that. You can't let this keep getting worse."

"I meant it doesn't matter whether or not I can have children," Rose said. "I wanted them with him, but that isn't going to happen."

Cal laid his hand over hers. "I'm sorry," he said.

Rose turned her hand over and laced her fingers through his. "At least I'm not alone. It may not seem like it, but having you here does help."

"You aren't just saying that because I can whisk you off to Australia, are you?" he said. He was rewarded with a small smile, one of her first since it happened.

"Why else would I want you around?" she said.

…..

The pills dulled the pain, but it didn't go away completely. It was stronger this time. Rose took out Cal's datebook and counted the weeks, trying to figure out when her last period occurred. Jack had been alive. A month ago? No, it was more like two, at least. She frowned, worried by this new development. It had always arrived before. The pain was even worse when it did. Some days she barely made it out of bed, but it always came. Why wasn't it coming now? She wondered if she made a mistake by disagreeing with Jack about how to handle it.

Something would have to be done, and the sooner the better. She couldn't live this way, and to her surprise, Rose realized she did want to live. She wasn't just pushing herself to go on for Jack's sake anymore. She really wanted to live, for herself as well as for Jack. It was a familiar feeling, and one she was grateful for, though part of her wanted to cling to her grief forever. Anything less felt like a betrayal. That was familiar too.

Rose didn't know where she was going until she got there. She walked slowly, half expecting to see him staring down at the water. She remembered the way he whipped around at the sound of her voice, the shock and joy in his face.

He wasn't there, of course. No-one was. The sun was sinking into the ocean, and the sky was ablaze with color. Rose couldn't stand on the railing by herself; she was too afraid of falling. The wind blew against her face; the whole sky spread out before her, and she felt as if she could touch it; it was hers. The whole world was hers if she wanted it.

Flying wasn't the same without Jack. Rose didn't feel safe without him. She missed his hands on hers. She almost felt him. She head his voice, singing, "Come Josephine, my flying machine, going up she goes, up she goes." Her heart beat faster as she remembered the look in his eyes. And the kiss. Her longing had been like an ache, but when it finally happened, the pain intensified. She never wanted to stop touching him. She didn't know such feeling existed. Rose wondered if they ever would again.

….

"Are you going for a walk?"

Cal turned at the question. "A short one," he said. "I won't be gone long."

"Would you mind if I came with you?" she asked.

"I wouldn't mind," he said. "I'd like that."

They stayed close but didn't touch. It was too early for most people; breakfast wasn't even being served yet. Cal always got up with the sun, and Rose couldn't find a balance in her sleep anymore. She either slept too much or not enough.

"We're docking tomorrow," she said.

"Are you looking forward to it?"

"I am," she replied. Her tone was light. "I want to see what it's like there. I want to—" She paused. Move on wasn't what she wanted to say; neither was forget. She wasn't starting a new life, just a new part of the one she already had.

"I understand," Cal said.

"I think you do."

"What's going to happen once we're there?" he asked.

"I don't know," Rose answered. "I haven't been able to think about it. Getting there seemed like the answer. I didn't care what came next."

"You can stay with me. You know that." Cal thought it went without saying she would do exactly that, but now he wasn't sure. And clearly, neither was she.

"I can't let you take care of me forever."

"Why not?" he said. "We've already discussed this. I want to help. I'm not abandoning you in a strange country with no money, no job, and no friends."

"I have some money," Rose argued. "I'd get along. I'd find a way."

"I have no doubt you'd manage splendidly, Rose, but you don't have to prove anything. I wouldn't have come with you if I wasn't going to help." Cal looked down at her. "I don't want anything in return either."

"What are _you_ going to do there?" she asked.

"I'll find something," he said confidently. "I can keep busy anywhere."

Rose didn't want him to leave. She hated admitting it, but she wasn't sure when she would be able to live on her own again. Facing the day was getting easier, but when she was alone, the grief came rushing back. It washed over her until she couldn't breathe. Without Cal there, the nightmares would return. But she also worried about what was happening between them. He loved her; there was no getting around that. Those feelings weren't going away; if anything, they were growing stronger. They both knew it, even if they didn't acknowledge it. Rose love him, but it wasn't the same. She didn't know if it would ever be the same. Keeping him tethered to her this way wasn't fair, no matter what he said.

…..

Rose slipped out of bed without waking Cal. The sun was just starting to rise when she reached the bow. She hadn't thought about going out there again. When she woke up she just knew she had to go one more time. She and Jack saw the sun set together. Now, she would see it rise, alone. She flew into the new day, and for the first time since losing Jack, she felt happy. Light. Hopeful.

She met Cal in the corridor on her way back. His hair was uncombed; he wore a look of panic. "There you are!" he cried, hurrying toward her. He took her hands. "When I saw you were gone, I didn't know what to think. I was afraid you had…."He put a hand on her face, fighting the urge to pull her closer. "Please, don't go off like that, Rose. Don't disappear without saying anything."

"I didn't mean to worry you," Rose said. "There was something I had to do." She touched his hand. "You don't have to worry about me. I won't do anything like that. I know I said some things before, but I'm not going to hurt myself. Nothing's ever bad enough for that. It isn't worth it." _I promised Jack it wouldn't be_ , she added silently.

"I don't think I could stand losing you," Cal said quietly. "Not entirely, and especially not like that. Not being with you, it's different. At least you're alive, and I know you're safe." "

Pain shot through her. Rose stiffened against it. This wasn't like before. It was worse, but that wasn't what made it different. Something was happening in her body, but she couldn't think about what. The possibility was too big, too frightening, and too fraught with the potential for even more grief. In the back of her mind she knew exactly what was going on, thought she pretended not to. "We should get ready to leave," she said. There was more they needed to say, but it wasn't time yet. Their relationship had no name, no set boundaries or rules. They were making it up as they went along. Cal couldn't believe how much he liked it that way. With Rose, he didn't need structure and order quite so much.

…

Rose wished she could stop thinking about how much Jack would love it there. The coast was breathtaking. The city was so foreign and yet welcoming at the same time. The accents buzzed in her ears; she could hardly understand some of them. Cal looked bewildered and slightly overwhelmed. Traveling had never agreed with him. He was happiest on a ship or in a hotel room, far away from noise and unfamiliar surroundings.

He booked two suites, but they stayed together. It wasn't discussed; it didn't have to be. Rose just hoped he didn't press her to label their relationship. Despite his assurances, she still worried their arrangement was, at the very least, unfair. The Cal she'd been engaged to would never have helped her without expecting something in return. That man wouldn't have saved her from drowning without expecting something in return. Even after all this time, part of her wondered if he would appear again. She believed he had changed; she trusted him. But Jack had never been convinced, and who was a better judge of people than Jack? Rose pushed those thoughts away, determined to concentrate on the future. They'd come all that way so she could start somewhere new. She couldn't bury herself in memories and what ifs.

Rose took two pills, careful to hide them from Cal. She didn't want more questions about her health. She was in pain, but she could handle it. Wasn't that what the pulls were for? It was all the stress of losing Jack and the trip making the problem flare up again. In a few days, she told herself, it would go away.

A warm breeze flew in the window, carrying the scent of the ocean. Rose breathed it in. They heard the roar of the waves from their room. Cal wanted to be further inland, closer to what he called civilization, but she never wanted to leave the coast. He watched her, taking in the brightness of her eyes. "Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked.

"You hate it out there," Rose said.

"But you don't. I'd rather you didn't go wandering around alone, especially this close to sundown."

"Nothing would happen," she replied.

"I'd still rather you didn't." His tone was concerned, not domineering or angry. Caring for other people—demonstrably and actively—didn't come naturally to him after years of being trained to always think of himself first, but Rose saw how hard he was trying. It made her love him more. She didn't want him. At most, she only ever felt fleeting desire for him after their friendship began, and she suspected it came out of loneliness. Why didn't she want him? It was a question she'd often asked herself before Jack's arrival. Life would be so much simpler if she only wanted to marry Cal.

And if she had, Jack would still be alive; Rose might never have seen him again, but he would still be alive. Would that be better? Was it less selfish to wish that had happened instead? She could be happy with Cal— _this_ Cal—after all; so what if it meant the difference between smiling and laughing? She told herself she was lucky to have the option of a lesser happiness. She'd been telling herself that for years. Many people didn't get either.

"Sure, I'd like that," Rose said. "I want to explore this place as much as possible."

"You're glad we came then?"

"Yes," she said. "It was the best thing we could have done, or that I could have done, rather."

"I needed to leave too," Cal said. "Not just because of what happened. It was time to move on. I needed to get further away from my family, find new challenges. I'd known for some time I needed to go, but—" He shrugged.

"Because you didn't want to leave me," she finished.

"Because I didn't want to leave you," he agreed. "When you told me you were going to travel with Jack, I could stand it. He had you. He's always had you. And then you married him. Wasn't that enough? He didn't have to take you away completely."

"Leaving was my idea," Rose said. "I didn't think staying was a good idea. He didn't trust you. He didn't like you at all."

Cal smiled slightly. "I know. He made that quite clear."

"You didn't like him either. Cal, admit it."

"No, I didn't," he said. "I was jealous, but that wasn't the only reason."

"So you were jealous."

"Of course I was," he said. "Jack was too. When you were sick the first time, he and I could barely be in the same room. We both wanted the other to disappear."

"I should be flattered," Rose said. "But I'm not."

"Why not? You had two men who loved you, who would have done anything for you."

"I've never wanted to be fought over," she said. "I'm not a prize. I'm a person. Jack understood that. It was one of the first things I loved about him. You know that," she added in a softer tone.

Talking about Jack in the past tense still felt strange. When she woke up in the morning it took a moment for her to remember he wasn't there, and the arm around her wasn't his. But talking about him was getting easier. The words didn't stick in her throat anymore, and she wasn't on the verge of tears. She was grateful for that.

They ate dinner in a small restaurant a few blocks away. Cal swallowed his discomfort and tried to enjoy it for Rose's sake. Her smiles reached her eyes now. He was willing to endure a hundred more of these horrid places if that was the outcome. When she suggested they walk down to the beach, he agreed.

The sand stuck to his shoes. They were ruined. It got on his pants; those would probably have to go as well. It was a small loss. Rose looked radiant in the moonlight, and he wished he'd taken her on walks like this before. Before Jack. Before she started hating him. Before any chance of their being together was destroyed. But he hadn't love her back then, had he?

Cal didn't notice anything amiss until they were getting ready for bed. It was only the flicker of a shadow in her eyes, but he caught it. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. I'm fine." Rose meant it. The feeling wouldn't last; at most, she had only until she fell asleep, but for the next few minutes, Rose truly was fine.

"You didn't look fine just now," Cal said. He wanted to say more, but he was hesitant to bring up Jack. Talking about him too much might upset her.

"I've been in a little pain, but it's nothing," Rose said. She got into bed. "It's no worse than before."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You would just worry," Rose said. "And insisted I see a doctor."

"Because you need to see one," he said. "Rose, you can't ignore this. It almost killed you before." He climbed into bed next to her. "You promised you'd do something if it came back," he reminded her.

"It hasn't, really," she insisted. "The stress of everything that's happened, the new environment, that's all making it seem worse than it is. Once I'm settled in, I'll be fine."

"Maybe you're right," Cal said. "I'm sure none of this has done you any good. You're going to see a doctor anyway, but you may be right."

"Cal, you can't make me go."

They faced each other. "I won't carry you in over my shoulder," he said. "Although I could."

Rose shook her head, a half-smiled on her lips. "No, you couldn't."

"Please, do this, Rose." His voice was soft, his dark eyes full of concern. He touched her hand.

"Fine," she said. "I'll go."

 **AN: I'm back and will be posting updates regularly again!**


	16. Chapter 16

At least the doctor was a woman this time. That was something to be glad about. If she had to go through this again, at least it was with a woman. Claire—Dr. Kendrick—was only a few years older than Rose. She sensed her hesitation and waited for Rose to explain the problem rather than asking questions. Rose told the story with few details, telling only what Claire needed to know. She listened, nodding from time to time. When Rose finished she said, "And it's been different this time?"

"Yes, you could say that," Rose answered.

"Worse?"

"Yes, in a way," Rose said. "At times, it—I don't exactly know how to describe it. The pain is the same, but…."

"But it isn't," Claire finished.

"Do you think I'm imagining it?" Rose asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. Claire shook her head. 'No," she said. "I don't think you're imagining it. Who would know what's happening in your body better than you?"

"You, for one," Rose said.

Claire laughed. "I can tell you what may be causing it and what can be done about it, but I can't tell you how you feel. If I could I wouldn't be a doctor. I'd be a psychic medium."

Rose allowed herself a small laugh. "I guess you would be."

"Mrs. Dawson—" Rose nearly flinched at the name. It sounded strange. She'd only been called that a few times, and mostly by Jack. Now it didn't really fit, did it? She wished she'd used a different name. "You have to be absolutely honest," Claire said. "I can't help you otherwise."

"I've told you everything."

"Yes, but there's one more thing I need to know," Claire said. She spoke pleasantly, as though they were just having a simple chat. "Is there any possibility you could be pregnant?"

"What?" Rose said quickly. "No. Why?"

"With your condition, that complicates things."

"With my condition I can't get pregnant," Rose said. "That was already explained to me, months ago. It's not possible."

"It's unlikely, but it's not impossible," Claire said. "The chances go up during the times you don't experience discomfort from it." She watched Rose's face. "Is that a possibility?" she asked gently.

Rose's own suspicions came forward again. She didn't want to acknowledge them. So she'd missed periods. That meant nothing. Her body was in a shambles; her mind was only slightly better. What she felt, it couldn't be trusted. She let out a slow breath, wishing Jack were there. "Yes," Rose said finally. "It's possible."

…..

Cal was waiting when she came outside. "Well?" he said. Rose made no reply; she didn't know what to say. She looked up at the sky. There wasn't a cloud in sight. It was bluer here; it was exactly the color of Jack's eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, and she realized she was on the verge of tears.

"It's alright," Cal said, putting an arm around her. "We'll get through it. Don't be afraid."

Rose leaned against him, glad for his solidness. He wouldn't blow away in the wind or buckle under her weight. He was like Jack in that regard. Not for the first time she wondered how they could be so alike and yet so different. "Can we go to the ocean?" she said.

…..

There were people on the beach this time. Rose ignored them. She left her shoes on the sand and walked into the water, not caring if it ruined her dress. Cal followed reluctantly, barefoot, his pants rolled up. Rose gazed into the horizon, the wind whipping her curls back. Suddenly, she threw herself into the water. A wave rolled over her, and she was gone. Cal reached out, but it was too late. His heart skipped a beat as panic set in. What had she done? "Rose?" he cried, as if that would bring her back. "Rose!"

Cal plunged into the cold water. The salt burned his eyes. He swam forward, half-blind, water rushing up his nose, choking him. His heavy clothes pulled him down; he kicked, desperate to make it back to the surface, certain his lungs would explode. Heart pounding, he broke free of the water, just as Rose came up for air a few feet away. "Rose!" He swam toward her. "Why did you do that?" he yelled. He took hold of her arms. "You could have drowned. What were you thinking?"

The water was up to her neck. "I needed to be here," Rose said. "In the ocean."

"He's not in the ocean," Cal said, finally understanding.

"I know he isn't."

"Then why?" he asked. "I thought you were doing better."

"I was—I am," she said. "I don't know what I was thinking. I thought it might tell me something. If he was going to speak to me, he'd do it here."

Cal pulled her closer. His voice was normal. "Did he?"

Rose shook her head. "No. There's nothing."

"Rose, are you alright? What did the doctor say?"

She looked at him, her eyes solemn. "I'm pregnant."

Cal couldn't believe his ears. "You are? She said that?"

"She didn't have to. I already knew," Rose said. "I just didn't want to admit it. I didn't want to think about it. Cal, this isn't how this was supposed to happen."

"What if it is?" He spoke without thinking.

Rose stared at him. "What do you mean?"

Cal knew he'd put himself in an awkward positon. He couldn't say their situation was meant to be. Rose would never accept that, and even if she would, did he want her to? Did he want to say Jack's death brought them together? That felt wrong. And yet, he couldn't deny Jack had brought them together, as much as anything else. If Rose never met him they would have gotten married as planned and made each other miserable.

"I mean, what if this is one of the ways it could go?" he said. "If not with Jack, then with me."

"It's always one or the other, isn't it?" Rose said. "You or him. There were times when he was still alive when I wished I could have you both."

"I can't imagine how that would work."

"When I was sick the first time," she said. "You held one of my hands, and he held the other."

"We both fervently wished the other would disappear. We glared at each other as you slept," Cal said. "If you hadn't been there—"

"You would have torn each other apart. I know. I knew. Neither of you can lie to me. You didn't even try."

"I did," he said.

"No, Cal, you didn't." Rose turned back to the horizon. "And he's gone. You won."

"Your heart's broken. That isn't winning."

Rose tilted her head toward him slightly. "It's broken. It isn't shattered. The pieces can come back together again."

"Can they?"

Her voice was soft. "Eventually." His hands moved down to her waist. They were bigger than Jack's, though maybe that was her imagination. Rose couldn't be certain. They rested comfortable; his grip wasn't tight. He wanted to kiss her. She saw it in his eyes. She couldn't match the force of his desire, not now, perhaps not ever, but if she let herself try, something might happen. If she loosened her hold on Jack, just a little, she could might find happiness again. She glanced at Cal's mouth. What would kissing him be like? She remembered the one real kiss they'd had, right before Jack came back into her life. It was nice. It wasn't life-changing, but did it have to be?

Cal wasn't the only man in the world. Rose could find another. She could probably love another man, but it would take so long. There would be so much to tell or keep inside. Just thinking about it was exhausting. Building up trust with a stranger, building a world, she already had that with Cal; leaving it would be foolish.

"I don't want to raise this child alone," she said.

"You don't have to, Rose. I'm here."

"Can you really live with that?" Rose asked. "Knowing this baby isn't yours? And knowing I'll tell it about Jack?"

By now they'd forgotten they were in the water. It lapped around them; their bodies had adjusted, and it felt perfectly warm. "I don't expect to find a wife. I decided I would have children of my own after I went to Los Angeles. It wasn't you," Cal said. "I would have married someone because I was supposed to, but I realized that life wasn't going to happen for. I couldn't go through the motions anymore….in anything."

"If you were with me, would that be going through the motions?"

"No, Rose. I love you. If I were with you, I'd be myself again. I'd be better."

"It's not up to me to make you a better man, Cal. We've been over this."

"I don't expect you to," he said. "It's happened anyway."

 _Los Angeles 1919_

They faced each other across the desk. Cal's hands were spread flat on its surface; he was glad for a physical barrier between them. Rose held tightly to her bag; she looked everywhere but at him. "I didn't expect you to come," he said.

"I didn't expect to come here."

Neither of them knew what to say. "You—Do you want to sit down?" Cal asked, sounding as awkward as he felt. Rose sat without a word. He resumed his chair. "Why did you come?"

"I don't know," she answered.

"That's honest."

"I see no reason to lie," she said. "If we can't be honest with one another by now…" Rose shrugged.

"I thought we were always honest with one another," he said.

"Did you? That's not surprising."

"We may not have said much, but what we did say was the truth," he said. "There was little duplicity in our relationship."

"That's one way of putting it," Rose said. "I always knew what you wanted; you were a clear communicator, if nothing else."

"You did a good job pretending you didn't know." Cal's mouth curled up in a sardonic smile. "It took a whole for me to figure out you were pretending."

"Was that before or after I made it clear I was leaving?" As the words left her mouth Rose wondered if she were going too far. She didn't know what made her say it any more than she knew what compelled her to go to his office. At his insistence the hospital had kept her two extra days, just to be absolutely sure she was fine. He came every morning at nine sharp and sat with her until visiting hours ended.

Rose panicked the first time she saw him; the old fear welled up in her, and it was as if no time had passed. "I just came to see how you were," he'd said. Her panic gave way to suspicion, but gradually, that faded until she was merely curious.

He asked about Jack on the third day. Rose tried to keep her face blank as she answered. Cal didn't reply. They spent the rest of that afternoon in silence.

"I never thought you actually intended to leave," Cal said. "Nut until you _did_. Why did you come back after the drawing? Didn't you know better?"

"Did you want me to distrust you even more?" she said. "I came back so I could tell you in person. It seemed like the right thing to do."

"I can't believe he went along with it. Such a foolish thing to do," Cal said, shaking his head.

"He did it because I asked him to." Rose's voice was tight." I know it was foolish. I've often thought of what might have happened if I'd used better judgment."

"I'm sorry."

"What did you say?" Rose eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm sorry," Cal said again. And so it began.

 _Australia 1922_

"What did you mean when you said you don't expect to have children?" Rose asked. Cal didn't look up from his newspaper. "I mean exactly what I said," he replied.

"Don't you need an heir?" Didn't I hear countless lectures about that from your mother? And then again from your father? And I believe once from you?" she said.

Cal met her gaze. "I won't inherit the throne," he said. "My father like to dangle it in front of me. He enjoys threatening to disinherit me if I don't behave exactly as he says, but the truth is I was disinherited since the day I came home from the War. When I showed weakness that was it. I showed I was beyond help and had to be sent away. He began looking elsewhere for his heir."

"Did he say that to you?" she asked.

"He didn't have to, and after what happened in Los Angeles, I doubt he wants to see me again."

"You did everything he told you to," she pointed out. "It was as much his fault as anyone else's. That situation….I don't know how it could have ended well unless you gave in."

"Do you think I should have?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I wish I could see it that way," he said.

"If you try, maybe you can."

"Maybe," he said. "Rose, if you're worried I'll want children, don't. I wouldn't expect that from you. We aren't married, and this isn't exactly a romance, is it?"

"I still don't know what it is," Rose said. "Or what it could be."

"It could be something?" He tried not to sound pleased by the idea.

"Do you think it could be?" she asked.

…..

Time passed strangely for Jack. Some days seemed to last forever, while others barely happened. There were moments when he could have sworn he was setting the pace of his own life. That was ridiculous, of course. He knew that. And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that something unusual was happening. Everything was easy now. He liked to joke that Rose was a good luck charm. Since she came with him, everything went right. He didn't worry about money anymore. When they needed something, it was there. His jobs were—well, he wasn't sure what they were. The hours he spent working went by in a blur most of the time.

When Jack was happy things slowed down. An afternoon could go on for days, or so it seemed. He was always startled to see only a few minutes had passed. He knew if he checked the clock that's what he'd see, even though he was sure they'd been in bed most of the day.

Rose was warm next to him. Her legs were soft against his. Her head was on his arm. He couldn't move without disturbing her, but that was alright. Jack didn't want to get up yet. He liked where he was too much.

….

Rose went over it for the next few days, looking for every angle; she silently rebutted every argument Cal might make against it. When she was satisfied she brought it up. At first Cal just stared at her. "Why do you need to do anything?" he asked.

"Well, obviously so I'm not just sitting around all day."

"In your condition, that's exactly what you should be doing," he said. "Why would you want to work if you don't have to? Do you know how many women would love to be in your situation?"

"I'm sure they'd love to be pregnant widows with only a little money of their own," Rose said drily. "It's what I hoped for when I married Jack."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you mean," she said. "And you're right, but I need more. I always have. I appreciate what your money can do—more than ever—but that's the problem. It's _yours_. What do I have?"

"Anything you want," Cal said. "You just have to ask. Rose, you know that."

"I don't want to ask. It's very generous, and I'm sure you mean it, but I need independence. If something happens to you—"

"It won't," he said confidently.

Rose ignored him. "If something happens to you, where does that leave me? We aren't married."

"I'll marry you, Rose."

"I know you would," she said.

"Wouldn't it be better if we did?" Cal said. "For you and the baby?"

"Because people will talk?"

"That's part of it. I don't care what they say. I'm still crazy to a lot of people I once considered friends. They don't speak to me anymore. You know how things are with my family," he said. "You've seen it. Besides, I have money. What can anyone really do to hurt me?"

"Of course."

"What I'm trying to say is, we may not care, but when the baby grows up he—she—will care," he said. "It will matter more that we lived together, unmarried, than it will that I'm not his father. Or hers. I'm not particularly inclined either way."

"That's good because it's one thing you can't have a say over," Rose said lightly.

"Is that a challenge?" he joked.

"What you're saying…I know it's true, Cal. I know I should be thinking that way. If I had any sense at all I would've married you already," she said. "I don't know why I'm so resistant. If there was ever a time….Jack isn't coming back." Her voice was solemn. "All that time I had hope. It was possible. Unlikely. After all, what were the chances of us finding each other again, even if he were alive? But it was possible. I went to Los Angeles because I thought he'd go back there eventually…if he were alive….It's like this baby," she said. "So unlikely but not impossible."

Jack wasn't coming back. Jack wasn't coming back. It echoed in her head. Jack wasn't alive somewhere. There was no chance she would turn a corner and see him again. That simply wasn't going to happen. Why was that so hard to accept? She saw what happened; she knew how few people survived. Jack was searched for. If he had been among the survivors wouldn't he have been found?

It was a question she had trouble answering. He was among the survivors from the sinking, and yet she missed him. If she missed him once—No, she wouldn't think that way. She had to live in the present, for herself and for the baby. She couldn't waste her life in dreams, no matter how sweet they might be.

"Would anything change?" Rose asked.

"No," he said.

….

Jack looked like he was merely taking an afternoon nap. His tan had faded, but he looked perfectly healthy, aside from the scars. They made him more handsome, the nurses thought. He had a mysterious air thanks to them, a ruggedness he hadn't had before. It didn't take much effort to imagine his unblemished, boyishly handsome face.

They watched for signs he was waking up, but none came. They talked to him, read to him, but he either didn't hear or didn't care. Whatever was behind his eyes, they concluded, was better than anything the real world had to offer.

Each morning Mary—Nurse Benson—read the newspaper to him. It was more a habit than anything else. She didn't believe her voice would rouse him. "Shall we see what's happening in the world?" she said. "Where to start? The weather report says we're in for sun. No surprise there. They've started rebuilding the accident site. It's taken them long enough. It's been over six months after all." Mary glanced at him. "You're one of the only ones left, you know," she said sadly. "The others have gone home. You don't have a home, do you? No-one who misses you? It's a shame." Her voice brightened. "Let's see what the gossip columns have to say." She quickly turned the pages. "Caledon Hockley—" Mary was too busy reading to see Jack's hands twitch.


	17. Chapter 17

She went to the other side of the world, but physical distance means nothing in dreams. The first time it caught her off guard. She closed her eyes in one bed and opened them in another. Different arms encircled her. Familiar arms. Jack's arms. He kissed her and got up, thinking she was still asleep. Rose watched him, frozen, her breath caught in her throat. That dream was brief; most of them were. She couldn't predict when it would happen. Over the next few months Jack appeared, always cheerful, acting as if everything was normal. He felt so real. Solid. She could smell his hair. Dreams never felt like this. Their images always faded, but these dreams stayed clear in her mind long after she woke up.

Rose didn't talk about them. It sounded crazy. _She_ would sound crazy. Cal was worried about he already. She didn't need to give him even more reason to fuss over her. The more her pregnancy advanced, the more he hovered.

"Maybe you should see what you can do here," Rose suggested one afternoon.

"You want me out of your way."

"No, I didn't say that," she said.

"It's what you meant, Rose," he said pleasantly. "Am I that bad?"

"You're a little annoying sometimes."

"Oh," he said. "I wasn't trying to be."

"I know. You've been wonderful mostly," she said. "But I think we both need some time apart."

"I suppose there's something here I could do," Cal said. "I do miss working."

"It's your favorite thing. No, wait, that's money," she teased.

"Your aversion to money baffles me."

"I'm simply not dependent on it for happiness," Rose said.

"We all are, Rose. One way or another."

And so Cal went back to work, slowly at first. He only left her a few days a week. At Rose's insistence he committed to the full week. The house they'd taken was mostly empty now. With two floors it was still much too large for them, but it was the smallest place he would agree to.

Rose spent most afternoons sleeping. She constantly felt tired now, her body heavy and muscles sore. She loved lying in the middle of the bed and dozing off, pillows all around her. It was like sleeping on a cloud. And there was always the possibility Jack would appear.

…..

Rose knew it could be worse. All things considered, she was rather lucky. She went back to clerical work until her pregnancy became too obvious. Cal wouldn't accept her money, arguing she should save it if she were concerned about needing money later. With what she already had, it came to a few hundred dollars, but at least it was something.

She missed Jack. She tried not to, but the hole where he'd been wouldn't close. It was easier now. She didn't cry. She got out of bed every day and found things to occupy her time, even after she stopped working. She was happy, or as happy as she could be under the circumstances. Cal did his best to make her happy. Rose's feelings were a tangled mess. It wasn't grief sending her into his arms every night. She liked being there. All they did was sleep. If he wanted more, he didn't ask.

Rose kept wearing Jack's ring. She moved it to her right hand. The one Cal gave her was small, just a fraction of a diamond really. They were married by a bored clerk who was late for lunch. Rose laughed when it was over. "I never expected this to happen," she said.

"Neither did I."

"I can't believe _you_ eloped," she said.

"Did you want something else?" Cal asked.

There were so many answers to that question. The most honest was yes, of course she did. That wasn't what he meant. "No," Rose said. "This was best."

"You pretended to be dead to avoid a large wedding," he said. "So I thought you'd prefer something like this."

"I never pretended to be dead. You assumed."

"You changed your name," he pointed out.

"That became my name," Rose said. "There's a difference."

…

Mary read the paper faithfully every day, but there were no more movements from Jack. Until one day when half the gossip column was devoted to _him._ "The wayward Hockley steel heir," Mary read. "Was recently spotted in Australia, of all places."

Jack's hands twitched. "He's rumored to be living with a young, fiery haired woman—" Jack squeezed the blanket with both hands. "Though other sources claim she's his wife. The pair apparently eloped several months ago—" His eyes fluttered. He wasn't awake yet, but he was fighting his way back.

…..

"Cal?" Rose put her book aside. "Is that you?"

"Don't come out here," he called from the hallway.

"Why not? Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine," he answered. "Close your eyes, Rose."

"Why?" she asked, closing them. "Did you find some new way to show off your money?" She heard Cal come into the sitting room. He set something on the floor, against the wall. "No," he said excitedly. "You can open your eyes now."

"Oh," Rose gasped softly. Directly in front of her was a painting. It took up the entire space in front of the fireplace. "Cal, it's—I—" Rose could only gaze it, speechless. Color exploded across the canvas. The brush strokes were bold.

He watched her face. "Do you like it?" he asked, nervousness in his voice.

"Do I like it? It's extraordinary," she said.

"Really?"

"Yes. It's one of the best I've ever seen," she said. "I love it. Where did you get it?"

"I had it sent in from Spain," Cal replied.

"Why?"

"For you," he said, as if that were obvious.

Tears filled her eyes. "You did this for me? But you hate this kind of art."

"You don't," he said. Rose smiled, blinking away the tears. Cal wiped her eyes with his thumb. "I didn't mean to upset you," he said.

"You didn't." She kissed his hand. "Thank you. This means so much to me." She looked into his eyes. They moved toward each other, and just like that, she was kissing him. It was soft, tentative, at first. Rose put her arms around him; his hands pressed against her back. Their mouths seemed to open together, and she was really kissing him, eager now, all hesitation gone.

…..

Rose dreamed about Jack that night. She fell asleep happy. Maybe that was it. Or maybe it was guilt creeping in. She wasn't supposed to let go of this this much, was she?

She looked different. She kind of shimmered. That happened sometimes. Jack didn't know why. And she was pregnant. Extremely so. When had that happened? He couldn't remember. Suddenly, it was hard to remember anything.

"Jack?"

He held her close. Nothing else mattered. Rose clung to him. They sank to the floor. She buried her face in his neck. "I miss you," she whispered.

"I'm right here, Rose," he said reassuringly.

"No, you aren't."

Jack hugged her tighter. "Yes, I am," he said. "I'd never leave you, Rose. You know that." He kissed her. "I love you." His hand was on her waist, palm against the swell of her belly. He gasped at the movement within her. "Is that-?" he said.

Rose nodded. "Yes."

"We-?"

"We did."

"Is this—This is real?" he said.

"It can't be," she said sadly.

"It feels real."

"I know," she said.

…

Rose didn't come back the way she usually did. She faded from his arms, and he waited for her to appear again, but she didn't. He was alone. For the first time, it was just him in the dream. It wasn't even a dream anymore, just an empty room. The sounds of the street below were gone. The light was dim and artificial.

"It's not real," Jack said, disbelief thickening his voice. But if it wasn't real, what was it? He heard the voice. It sounded like someone talking through a tunnel or yelling down a well. Jack concentrated, trying to bring it closer. The words began falling into place. It was a woman reading. She was reading to _him_ , he realized. It was random bits from a newspaper or magazine. Why? Where was he?

"Rose?" he called. His voice echoed hollowly.

"The couple are maintaining a somewhat reclusive life style," Mary read. "They haven't been seen at any social events, and stories abound about Cal's secret bride. The red-haired beauty has no name yet, though she's said to bear a striking resemblance to his former fiancée—"

Jack's eyes opened. "Rose," he whispered.

….

Rose lay against Cal's chest. His arms draped loosely around her. Warm evening air blew in through the open terrace doors. The neighborhood was quiet. It wouldn't have mattered though; the house was set back from the street and protected by stately trees.

"We need more color in here," she said idly.

"You don't like the room?"

"It isn't that I dislike it," she said.

"But you want to change it," he said.

"I'd change a lot of things about this house."

"Do it," Cal said.

"You wouldn't mind?" Rose asked.

He kissed her temple. "Change whatever you want."

"What if I fill the house with paintings you hate?"

"I expected you'd do that," he said. "I thought you would do that—before." He said the last part haltingly. Bringing up their previous relationship was never a good idea, he'd decided. The goal of the past few months was to put all that behind them. So far, that seemed to be happening.

"You did not," Rose said. "You would never have let me do something like that."

"I would have. I bought them for you, didn't I?"

"You thought it was a silly whim," she pointed out.

"They seemed rather silly at the time."

"Why do you dislike them so much?" she asked.

"I don't know," Cal said. "I just do. I don't like looking at them. They—they make me uncomfortable."

"They're supposed to. Some of them, anyway."

"Well, _you_ made me uncomfortable for a long time," he said with a laugh. "And I learned to like it."

His hand rested on her belly. It naturally went there, or so it seemed to him. Rose didn't object. She didn't mind; it was nice. This wasn't the life she envisioned when she saw herself having Jack's baby—far from it—but at least she wasn't alone. At least the baby would have some kind of father. It really could be worse.

Cal gasped as the baby kicked under his hand. Rose smiled. "It feels odd, doesn't it?"

"I don't know if that's the word," he said.

She put her hand over his. "Feel here," she said, moving his hand down.

His eyes widened. "It can move like that?"

Rose nodded. "That happens a lot now."

"I didn't know they could do that," he said, amazed. "That's extraordinary."

"Isn't it? There's really something in there," she said.

"Did you doubt it?"

"Not really," she said.

"Rose, I…." Cal hesitated, searching for the right words. "I'm glad you're having the baby. I know it's not—but I—"

"You don't have to say anything."

"I feel like I do."

"It's alright," she said. "I understand."

He touched her face. She leaned into his hand. He kissed her gently, and she turned toward him as best she could. The kiss deepened. "Rose," he whispered. She ran a hand through his hair, destroying its perfection.

Cal wanted to kiss her forever. He moved his lips down her neck. She was so soft; she tasted like spring, like the drop of nectar in a honeysuckle. It had been at least twenty years since he ate one, probably longer, but he still remembered the tasted. They grew all over the edges of his family' summer home. The gardeners were always told to get rid of them, but every summer the honeysuckles came back, prettier and sweeter than ever.

"Cal," she sighed.

This was the way he'd always wished she would say his name. He kissed her throat. His hand brushed across her breast. They were bigger now. He'd noticed the change, but he hadn't really thought about it. Moaning softly, she pressed his hand against her. Cal looked into her eyes. "We shouldn't," he said.

Rose gave him a confused look. "Is this you talking? We shouldn't?"

"Not now," he said. "Not yet." It pained him to say it. After all that time wanting her, to be so close and to stop, was he crazy? His body said he was; it insisted he was, but he knew it was the right choice. He moved away from her.

"Is it because I'm—"

"Yes, partially."

"You don't want me like this?" she said.

"No, I do, Rose," he said. "But I don't think we should now. It might hurt you, and even if it wouldn't I want it to be different."

"What do you mean?" Rose asked.

"I love you. I want this to be something special between us."

'That hardly sounds like the Cal I know," she joked. "I remember when it could happen anywhere."

"It's been a long time since then."

"It has," she agreed. "You're right. It shouldn't be like this." Rose pulled him closer and kissed him. "You can still kiss me," she whispered.

"I can manage that."

…

Cal had expected Jack's presence to linger, but amazingly, it didn't. There was no ghost coming between them. Rose missed him; he knew that, but she was moving on from her grief. What he hadn't expected were the changes in _their_ relationship. They were married. He thought of her as his wife. He thought of the baby as his own. Why shouldn't he? He was there, taking care of them. He was the one rubbing her ankles and her back, bringing her the foods she wanted, holding her at night.

Jack would have done all those things, if he were there, but he wasn't. Cal didn't think of him often, but when he did he figured Jack would want him taking care of Rose and the baby. He wouldn't want them alone. Cal didn't want them alone. A marriage based on friendship, he'd decided, was enough. If nothing else, he'd know they were alright. But to his amazement, it wasn't quite that anymore. He'd hoped something like this would happen. Rose had implied as much, but it seemed like too much to ask for.

"Sir?" His secretary stood in the doorway. "The package is here."

"Great," Cal said. "Tell them to bring it in."

"Of course."

He'd learned how to make her happy. Finally.

…..

"Is that necessary?" Jack asked.

Nick shone the flashlight in his eyes again. "Yes," he said. "Now, look up."

Annoyed, Jack did as he was told. "I can see just fine."

"You've been in a coma for quite some time," Nick said placidly. "We don't know what effects that may have."

"I'm fine," Jack insisted.

"So you've told us."

In the three hours since he awoke, Jack had been poked and prodded, had his temperature taken, his reflexes tested, bathed, eaten, and had been questioned by four different people. Countless people had come to stare at him, from other patients to nurses. "No-one can believe you're awake," Mary had explained. "We thought you'd never wake up."

"I almost didn't," Jack said wryly. He remembered all of it, every dream. They were perfect; it was the life he always wished he could have with Rose. He'd had those dreams before, off and on over the years. Waking up was always hard. Not this time. All he wanted was to get out of bed. His legs ached from lack of use.

"Because I _am fine_ ," Jack said. "When can I go?"

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Nick asked.

"I've been here six months—"

"Eight," Nick corrected.

" _Eight?_ " Jack cried.

"Yes, eight. And I'm sorry, but it will be another few weeks before you can leave."

"What? Why?" Jack demanded.

"Mr. Dawson—"

"Jack, please."

"Jack," Nick said. "You have to understand. You've undergone some serious trauma. Your body has to adjust. You can try and leave now, but I assure you, you won't get far."

Jack set his jaw. "Yes, I will." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Nick watched with an impassive expression. Jack's muscles cried out as he stood up, but he clutched the bedside table, determined to remain upright. He took one tentative step forward. The pain was blinding. He clenched his teeth through it. Two more steps followed. _You can do it_. Another step. Another—Jack crashed to the floor with a yelp of surprise. His arm slammed into the table. His chin hit the floor, and he tasted blood.

Nick picked him up before he could move. Jack didn't argue as he was put back in bed. His head spun. "That's why you can't leave yet," Nick said kindly. "Your body isn't ready."

"When?" Jack asked weakly.

"A few weeks. I can't tell you anything for sure."

"No," Jack said.

"Jack, I know it's hard, but—"

"No," Jack said again, firmly. "I can't wait that long. It's been too long already."

"Is there someone we can tell?" Nick asked. "Your family, maybe? As far as we knew you didn't have one. No-one ever came for you."

"No-one came?" Jack's eyes fell. Jack spent the first hour after he woke up asking for Rose. He was assured someone would get her. Now he realized they only said that to calm him down. "No-one was looking for me?" he said, stunned.

"It's possible they were," Nick said. "There were so many injured people at the time. So many had to be identified. Those who didn't make it-People came with photos," he said. "I don't remember seeing any of you, but you were in terrible shape for a while. I doubt anyone could've recognized you."

"Rose could have," Jack said.

"You mentioned her before."

"She's my wife," Jack replied.

"I see."

"She woulda looked for me," Jack said. Unless Cal stopped her somehow. Was that even possible? What if something had happened to her? What if she'd been on her way to him and been caught in the blast? She might be sick again. "You have to get her," he pleaded.

"Where is she?"

Jack gave their address. On second thought, he gave Cal's as well. An hour later Nick returned, but Jack didn't have to be told they were both gone. The last dream lingered in his mind. She'd been trying to tell him then.


	18. Chapter 18

Mary brought Jack as many back issues of the newspaper as she could find. He read the society and gossip pages hoping for any mention of them. When he finally came across one it was vague. The earliest columns referred to Cal's flight from LA to "parts unknown" following the disaster. It was in the more recent papers he found where they'd gone. Adelaide. But would they still be there when he reached the city? It was a long trip, and he still had at least another three weeks of recovery, and that's if he was lucky. The money hidden in the apartment was probably gone. Rose would've taken it with her. Jack didn't doubt he could figure out a way onto a ship, but Adelaide was a large city. He couldn't just walk around and expect to find her. A chill settled over him a new question appeared. Would Cal even let him find her?

Cal had what he wanted now. He had Rose, and Jack was out of the picture forever. She thought he was dead. That was the only way she would have left; it had to be. If she knew-Jack tried to breathe evenly. She didn't know. Hadn't they told him no-one came looking for him? Hadn't they said he was just one of hundreds lost in the chaos of that awful day? Unrecognizable was how they described him. Jack knew what happened without being told. Cal kept her away; he said it was for her own good; he said he was helping, looking and maybe he was. At first. But then he saw what an opportunity he had. A chance like this wouldn't come again. If Jack were found, Rose wouldn't look at him again.

Jack couldn't help wondering if Cal did find him. Did he lie to Rose? Did he tell her he was dead when he knew the truth? Or did he really believe it? Did he think taking her away was for the best?

Jack read over the latest column. "Believed to be his wife." No, she couldn't be. "She's _my_ wife," he whispered. Adelaide. That's where he had to go.

….

"Feel," Rose said, placing Cal's hand on her belly.

His eyes widened. "That's stronger than before."

"It won't be must longer now," she predicted.

"Does it hurt?"

"A little," she said. "It's not so bad. I'd be worried without it."

"Everything's going to be fine," he said reassuringly. "I'll take care of you, Rose. Both of you."

"I know you intend to try."

Rose didn't try to sort out her feelings anymore. Gratitude, grief, love, worry, it all tangled together, and the best she could hope for, she decided, was a kind of happiness. With the baby getting closer every day she found herself looking forward to the future again. She and Cal would find a way together. Jack was there, in the back of her mind; he always would be. She would tell their baby about him; nothing would stop that. She would show her his drawings and the photos. It would likely be a wasted effort for a child with no memory of him. Jack wouldn't even be a ghost for this child, but still, she had to know. Rose couldn't let him be forgotten completely.

"Will you be alright?" Cal asked.

"I can manage on my own for a few hours."

"I can stay if-"

"Go," Rose said pleasantly. "You're already supposed to be there. They've probably started without you."

"They knew better." He kissed her lightly. "You'll call if you need anything?"

"I will," she promised.

In some ways, Jack was right. Cal couldn't believe his good fortune. Resigned to a marriage based on close friendship, he was taken aback when Rose kissed him. Nothing had been the same since. They were closer than ever, touching more easily, little affectionate gestures. At night he held her, and it seemed their bodies relaxed into each other differently, as if anticipating an eventual new intimacy. Cal tried not to think about that. He'd wanted Rose for so long; he'd waited, hoping she would see him, and now it was happening. What were a few more months?

And there was the baby. It wasn't his, but he didn't care. He was there; that's what counted. His family would never understand, who said they even had to know? He and Rose might stay in Australia forever. They might go to Europe. For the first time since the War, he felt free. The future was bright and open. After this baby more might follow. He would have a life with Rose; they would be happy.

…

Rose was surprised by how scared she was when it began. The pain was sharp; it stole her breath. What scared her most was the realization that one of them might die. This baby was her last link to Jack, to the life they might have had together. The thought of losing it was unbearable. And if she died, who would take care of it? Cal would try. He would give this child everything, even with her gone, but could he love it without her there? Or would her death close his heart again?

"Cal." Her voice was eerily calm.

Cal knew just by looking at her. "What should I do?" he asked. "Is it time to get the doctor? No, we need to get you in bed fist," he said, anxiety clouding his eyes.

"I can get upstairs. You call her." Rose winced. "It should still be a while."

She settled herself in bed and tried to stay calm. How long would it take? Hours, at least. She'd heard it took days sometimes. Rose didn't know if she could survive that long; the pain seemed to be getting worse.

…..

Cal held her hands. Sweat dotted her face. Her breathing was slow and heavy. Fear shone in her eyes. He didn't know what to do; this was worse than the battlefield. At least then he only worried about staying alive; after a while he became almost numb to the fear. He didn't think he would ever be able to watch Rose suffer without feeling pain himself. There was no way to end it.

"It's getting close," Claire said. She gave Cal a meaningful look.

"Don't go," Rose pleaded.

"I'm not supposed to—" he began.

"Don't leave me," she said, gripping his hands tighter. "Cal, please, don't leave me alone. You promised you wouldn't. I can't do this by myself."

 _Jack should be here._ The thought swept across Cal's mind, bringing guilt with it. What right did he have to be happy in a situation that came from tragedy? There wasn't time to ponder that. The baby was coming; Rose needed him.

…

Her hair was blonde with glints of red. Her eyes were blue, a mix of Jack and Rose's colors. Rose held her against her chest, too tired to do anything but look at her. "She's beautiful," Cal said. He too gazed in awe.

"Isn't she? It's hard to believe I helped make her," Rose said. "I knew there would be a baby at the end, but I didn't know it would be like this."

"It's overwhelming."

"Yes," she said. She met his eyes. "Thank you for everything. If you hadn't been here—"

"You don't have to thank me, Rose," he said. "I want to be here. I think this is exactly where I'm supposed to be. I had to learn how to be good enough for you."

"I do love you," Rose said.

He kissed her forehead. "I want you to be happy."

"I can be. I am. With you and her," she said. "I see the future again. The past means so much, but it isn't everything."

…..

"How are you feeling today?" Nick asked cheerfully.

"How do you think?" Jack said.

"Do you feel like walking again?"

"Maybe I'll make it all the way down and hall and back this time," Jack said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"You're making progress, even if you don't think so. The fact that all your faculties are intact is—"

"A miracle," Jack finished. "I know." He sighed. "I'm grateful to you for helping me, but I need to leave. I don't have time to recover."

"You can't leave if you don't," Nick reminded him.

Jack climbed out of bed. Standing didn't hurt quite so much anymore, but his legs were wobbly. He walked slowly, hands out and ready to catch himself. He fell into the chair at the end of the hall. He bent and unbent his legs, settling into a rhythm.

"Very good," Nick said. "You'll be walking normally in no time."

"You said that last week."

"And I meant it," Nick replied. "I've never seen anyone work so hard to get better."

"Maybe I just have more reason to get better," Jack said, flexing his muscles.

"You still think your wife's in Australia?"

"I know she is," Jack said. He fixed his gaze on the wall. He saw past it, to the coastal city across the word, to Rose, who had no idea he was alive. What was she doing? Had Cal managed to finally win her over? Was her grief the opportunity he needed. Was she-Jack closed his eyes, as if that would block out the image.

Whatever was happening, it wasn't her fault. She was sad and alone. Cal had taken advantage of that. Jack was sure of it. It was exactly the sort of thing he would do.

…..

The baby slept against Rose, curled up in the crook of her arm. They both slept deeply. Cal lay next to them, his arm across Rose. He watched them sleep, marveling at how alike they were. Already he saw Rose's features on her face. Her hair wasn't long enough to curl yet, but he knew it would.

This was his family, no those people back in Pittsburg; the ones who criticized and were never satisfied, who were half-ashamed of him even before his breakdown. Cal silently promised to never be like that. He hurt Rose before, but that was in the past. He was a different person now. He brushed his lips across her cheek. "I love you," he whispered. _Just as much as Jack_ , he added silently.

…

"What are we going to call her?" Cal asked.

Rose munched toast with one hand. The other was on the baby, who nursed contentedly, her small eyes fixed on Rose's face. Rose felt like she could sleep another day and eat a few more courses of breakfast all at once. She was advised not to get up much. The birth was easier than expected, but the pregnancy overall had been hard on her body. Claire suggested an operation as soon as she was well enough. Rose wasn't ready to think about that. She wanted to rest and get to know this baby. She couldn't help being grateful, once again, for Cal's money. He was doing everything he could to support her emotionally, and that helped immeasurably, but she knew how much harder everything would be without money.

"Louisa," she said.

"You sound sure."

"I am," she said. "Louisa Star."

"That's unusual," he said.

"You're one to talk, Caledon."

"That's fair," he said with a grin. "I may be the only one. Why did you choose that name?"

"It was Jack's mother's name, and the Star is for us, him and I," she explained. Cal sensed there was more she wasn't telling him. There was no reason to press it. "It's a good name," he said. "It suits her."

"Doesn't it?" Rose wondered what Jack would say. She hoped he could see them. She hoped he didn't judge her too harshly for the choices she'd made. Wherever he was, she wanted to believe he still loved her.

…

Jack didn't sleep much. He was afraid to let himself. What if he didn't wake up? He stayed awake drawing, forcing his eyes to remain open as long as possible. Most of the time he felt like he was fading away when sleep overtook him, and panicked, he jerked away. He'd never been so aware of what sleep felt like. He walked the halls at night, one hand on the wall to steady himself. The night nurses watched and clucked their tongues sympathetically. It was such a shame, they said. He was such a nice young man. He gave each of them a drawing as thanks for taking care of him. It wasn't much, but it was all he had to offer.

Jack read the accounts of what happened. Guilt weighed down his shoulders. Why did he survive? And relatively intact, at that? But he wasn't really intact, was he? Without Rose, Jack felt like part of him was lost. There was a gaping hole somewhere around his lungs; he felt it when he breathed, and only she could heal it.

"You think you'll find her?" Mary asked one afternoon.

Jack sat in the chair stretching his legs. "I know I'll find her," he replied.

"What if she doesn't want you to?"

He eyed her warily. "What do you mean?"

"Just she left, so maybe she's moved on," Mary said. "Maybe you showing up will upset her life."

'No," Jack said, shaking his head. "She's surviving. I'm sure she is, but no matter what she still loves me." He didn't doubt her love for him, but what if she _had_ moved on? What if losing him a second time was just too much? There were thoughts Jack tried to avoid. It was better to focus on finding her, on the moment they finally saw each other again.

…

Louise was an energetic, healthy baby. Though barely two months old, she seemed to understand everything they said to her. Rose refused to talk to her like she was an infant; instead she spoke to her as if she were capable of responding. Cal followed suit, but he didn't believe it made much of a difference at her age. "It will," Rose promised. "You'll see."

He didn't argue. He was content to let her make all decisions regarding child-care. Rose agreed to a nurse, but only for a few hours a day. "I do need some time alone," she admitted grudgingly. Cal helped when he was home, and he was getting better at it. She knew he was trying. He held Louisa gingerly, clearly afraid she would break. When she squirmed he panicked. "What if I drop her?" he said.

"You won't. Just hold her like this." Rose adjusted his arms. "See? She's fine. She's happy, and she likes you."

"Do you really think she does?"

"She doesn't scream when you hold her," Rose said. "She responds to your voice as much as mine."

Cal gently touched Louisa's cheek. It was strange how connected he felt to her. He wanted to protect her more than he'd ever wanted to protect anyone, aside from Rose. Loving her took no time at all. He almost forgot she wasn't his.

It was a sunny day; the streets were full of tourists and vacationers eagerly exploring the sights. It was the first time they'd taken her beyond the back garden. Rose gripped the handle of the pram tightly. She knew it wouldn't roll away of its own accord, but she couldn't help worrying. As if hearing her thoughts, Cal put a hand next to hers. "She's fine," he said. "See?" Louisa cooed happily.

Rose let out her breath. "I know it's silly, but I can't stop being afraid," she said. "I keep imagining all the things that can happen to her."

"Nothing is going to happen to her. We won't let it."

Cal sounded so confident. Believing him was easy. When they reached the park Rose lifted Louisa out of the stroller and carried her over to the flowers. Maybe she was too young to really enjoy them, but Rose didn't want to keep any of the world's beauty away from her.

….

She'd been fed. Bathed. Changed. Nothing was wrong, and yet she wouldn't stop crying. Rose held Louisa and paced, hoping the movement would soothe her. She was so good all day. She was tired, so why wouldn't she go to sleep?

"What's wrong?" Rose asked. "I wish you could tell me. I don't know how to fix it."

"Let me try," Cal offered.

Rose turned to him, startled. "I didn't know you were there," she said. "I'm not sure it will make a difference." She handed the baby to him.

"It's alright, little one," he said softly. "I know you're tired." He swayed slowly, rocking her. "You saw a lot of things today. Flowers. Birds. You haven't seen the ocean yet, but you'll like it. We'll take you when you're older."

Rose was amazed by how quiet Louisa was in his arms. She didn't realize Cal's voice could be so soothing. Watching them together was as painful as it was wonderful. She tried not to think about Jack. Cal was the one with them, and nothing would change that.

He carefully placed her in the cradle. They kept the door open between their rooms. Rose put her arms around him and laid her head against his shoulder. "Thank you."

"It's nothing," he said.

"No, it isn't." She looked into his face. Different emotions struggled for dominance. He wore only his shirt, no vest or jacket, no layers of cloth between them. She felt his chest muscles. It was so nice to be held and kissed, to feel safe, to want someone touching her. And Rose wanted him. It wasn't a substitute for Jack. Nothing about them was the same. Their kisses were different; their embraces were worlds apart. Cal was handsome, more so now that he didn't wear a haughty smirk all the time, and his eyes weren't cold. But it was more than that. Her desire went deeper. She wanted _him_ ; she wanted this man, who loved he, who was her friend, who cared for her child as though she were his own. Jack couldn't touch her, but Cal could.

Rose kissed him, moving her arms to his neck. His hands encircled her waist. Quietly, they moved to the bed. She unbuttoned his shirt.

"Rose." It came out a soft whisper.

She glanced at him and smiled before kissing his neck. Cal shivered. Time seemed to slow down. Clothes slipped off. She felt so small against him. He was surprised by his own hesitation. He touched her lightly, half to imprint the moment in his memory, and half out of fear he would ruin it.

His body was so different. Rose was glad. She wasn't distracted by comparisons to Jack. Letting her desires take over was easy. Their kisses were eager, breathless. Her hands moved over him, learning his curves and angles. She grinned when he gasped. His eyes were even darker. They locked on hers as their bodies tangled together.

"I love you, Rose," he said.

"I love you." She pulled him into a kiss.

Cal didn't want it to end. No matter what he did, it would end too soon. Rose pressed her knees into his hips. A low cry escaped her throat.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No," she said. She put her face against his neck, breathing him in. "It's perfect."

…..

How would he get the money? Jack was sure he'd find a way, but the question still haunted him. What sort of jobs were there on the way to Australia? And how could he get there quickly? It was at least a two-week trip. If he had to make stops and work his way there, who knew how long it would take. Jack didn't have the luxury of time. His legs were strong again. He had to leave now.


	19. Chapter 19

"I'm glad to see you're both doing well," Claire said. She smiled at Louisa. "And you're recovering faster than I expected, but Rose you still need to think about whar I told you. If you don't-"

"It will only get worse," Rose finished. "Yes, I know."

"I understand it's a frightening prospect and not a decision to be made lightly, but I assure you, everything will be fine. You'll feel better when it's all over."

Rose touched Louisa's hair. "I was told having children would be nearly impossible," she said. "And then I had her. What if I can have more?" She always knew she wanted children, and with Jack it hadn't even been a question. Lately, she was thinking about the possibility of children with Cal. Louisa should have siblings. Rose remembered how lonely being an only child could be.

"What if you can't?" Claire said gently. "What if you just spend the next few years in pain for no reason?"

"I'll consider it," Rose said.

...

Jack stopped in the doorway. The apartment was empty. Dust cloths covered the furniture. The air was stale, and he knew he wouldn't find anything. Rose was long gone; every trace of their life together had gone with her. Someone put away his art supplies and Rose's books. All the food had been thrown out, the dishes washed, and the laundry taken care of. The rooms were so still it was eerie.

Hope sprang into his heart as he reached the bedroom. Maybe. He shook his head. She wasn't there; he knew better. Jack didn't know how alike Rose's thoughts had once been.

Their clothes were packed up. Most of Rose's were missing, along with the rest of her things. That was to be expected. He didn't expect to find so many of his own things missing as well. His sketchbooks. His pillow. Some of his clothes. His pencils and the knife he used to sharpen them. It was like she took them with her as remembrances.

He touched her dresses. They felt warm, like she'd just taken them off. Jack gathered them in his arms and breathed in the scent of her. He closed his eyes, and she seemed to fill the room. "Rose," he whispered. "I'll find you. I promise."

...

Rose was asleep when Cal came home. Louisa nestled against her, burbling happily. She looked up at him and smiled. "Hello, little one," he whispered, picking her up. He was careful not to disturb Rose. "Did your mother need a rest? Well, we can find something to do together."

He carried her downstairs, where a large carton was waiting. "Want to see something?" he asked. He took off the lid. Inside was a sculpture. He lifted it out with one hand and set it on the table. It was designed to hang from the ceiling on silver chains, like a chandelier. When it was hung, star-shaped blue and green gemstones were suspended in the air. They glittered in the light. Louisa stared at it, fascinated. "I assume that's a yes," he said. "We'll get someone to hang it in your room so you can see it all the time. Those stars are for you, and it's art, so that should make your mother happy."

Cal handed the sculpture off to a servant and took Louisa into the sitting room, where a fire had already been lit. "Your mother's a very special woman," he said. "And you're a special girl." He kissed her forehead. "You'll have everything. She's going to tell you about your father when you're older. That's fair, but I'm your father too." Louisa made a sound, and he wondered if she really could understand him. But then she put a hand in her mouth, and he remembered she was only a baby.

"You won't remember us talking like this," he said. "But I want to tell you anyway. Your father-your real father would be with you if he could. He loves you from wherever he is. I don't know what happens when we die. I wish I did. It would be a comfort, especially to your mother. Little One, I do know he can't love you any more than I do. When you find out, forgive me for not being him."

...

Rose found them in Louisa's room. Cal sat in the rocking chair, the baby in his lap, reading aloud. Rose cleared her throat, and he looked up. "Awake at last," he said cheerfully. "Do you feel better?"

"I do, much better. I didn't realize how exhausted I was."

"We could tell you needed to sleep, couldn't we, Louisa?" he said.

"I hope she wasn't too much trouble." Rose bent down to take her. "You gave her a bath?" she said, surprised.

"Wasn't she supposed to have one?"

"Yes," Rose said. "But-"

"So, I gave her one," Cal said. "I would have put her to bed, but I thought she needed fed first."

"She does. She wasn't fussy?"

He shook his head. "She's been happy since I got home." He offered her the chair.

"I shouldn't have fallen asleep like that," Rose said, settling in to nurse.

"You were exhausted. You said so yourself."

"We were alone. What if she rolled off the bed?"

"You had your arm around her. She wasn't going anywhere," he said. "You won't let anything happen to her, and neither will I."

"Do you think I'm overprotective?" she asked.

"No. You're the only mother I've really known, after mine," Cal said. "And yours, I suppose, but I think you'r trying to do what's best for her. She's so small," he added, shaking his head. "Who wouldn't worry?" He touched their hands. "I worry about both of you."

Rose looked up at him, about to reply, when she noticed the sculpture, hanging above the cradle. "What's that?"

"That is something I found last week," Cal answered. "In a tiny, depressing artist's studio."

"You were in an artist's studio?"

"Yes. You sound so surprised. Do you think I wouldn't be allowed in?" he joked. "I was in several actually. It took a few days before I found the right thing."

"You went looking for art?"

"Yes," he said.

"You didn't send an assistant or some other employee to do it for you?" Rose said.

"No, I went myself. An assistant wouldn't know what they were looking for. I knew it had to be something beautiful but interesting, something good enough to get your attention."

"They're stars," she said. A lump formed in her throat. "You found art for her. You, Cal, the man who hates art. Who think it's a waste of time and money."

"I don't hate all art," he said. "Jack's wasn't so bad, when he wasn't drawing you nude, anyway. At least you could tell what the drawings were supposed to be, not like that Picasso and those others you like so much."

Rose laughed. "He didn't like any of that either."

"I never accused him of being a stupid man," Cal said good-naturedly. He was glad to see Rose talking about Jack so easily. She needed to talk about him. If she didn't, he'd become a ghost in their lives.

"Thank you," Rose said. "That was a lovely thing to do. I knew she'll appreciate it when she's older."

"She seems to like it already." Cal kissed Rose's cheek. "I want to make you happy, Rose."

"You already have."

Rose almost told him about her conversation with Claire, but she held back. No sense ruining the moment. And besides, she wasn't sure what she wanted to do. The warnings gave her pause, but what if they were wrong?

...

Had she asked Cal he would have told her to take care of herself before anything else, but she didn't ask him. She would tell him, eventually, she decided, but not before she had a chance to think more about it.

He came home before noon the next day, unannounced. "Rose?" he called.

"Out here." Her voice wafted through the open doors that led into the back garden. She and Louisa sat in the grass. Flowers were spread around them, some without peals.

'What are you doing?" he asked.

"Enjoying the garden. What are you doing? You're never home this early. Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine," Cal answered. "I wanted to see my girls." He kissed both of their cheeks. "The office can get along without me for one afternoon."

"Is that really you, Cal?" Rose said melodramatically. "Choosing us over work, your one true passion?"

Looking into her eyes, he said, " _You_ are my one true passion, Rose." A shiver ran down her back. "Well then," she said. "Won't you join us?"

Cal eyed the grass warily. "You mean, sit on the ground?"

"Yes. It won't hurt. I promise. Will it, Louisa?"

"If she says it's, alright, it must be." He tried not to ruin the crease in his pants as he sat down. "Would you like me to take her?"

"Sure," Rose said. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, Rose. If I'm going to be her father, I'll be her father. I won't be the kind I had," he said. "I won't see her a few times a week and treat it like an inspection. You know that, don't you, Little One?" he added, looking down at Louisa. She grinned at him. "I wish I knew what you're thinking."

"It's probably not so different from what I'm thinking," Rose said. "I don't have to thank you. I know that, but I still feel like I should. You've done so much for us. You helped me survive, and you've shown me I can be happy again. I can love another man."

"When we first became friends I thought you were going to be the best thing in my life," Cal said. "Now I see I was only half right."

"Cal-"

"You don't have to say anything, Rose."

She moved closer, and he put an arm around her. "But I do. I love you," she said.

"And I love you."

…..

They spent the next few hours in the garden. Louisa touched flowers, tearing some apart and trying to eat others. Cal held her. Gently, he took the crushed petals from her chubby fists. She watched everything, from the clouds to the butterfly that landed on Rose's shoulder. "She'll be crawling soon and sitting up on her own," Rose said.

"I can't believe how much she's grown already," Cal said. Her hair was starting to curl. He ran a finger over it.

They took her inside when she got hungry. Rose rocked her until she fell asleep.

She found Cal downstairs in the study, telephone at his ear. "No, I can't come now," he was saying. "I told you when I left. I'm not available for the rest of the day." He paused. His mouth went thin. "Because I can't, and I'm not required to explain myself," he said. "I'll be at the office in the morning. We'll talk then." He dropped the phone on the table.

"Is something wrong?" Rose asked.

His expression softened. "No, everything's fine. The people at my office don't seem to understand I've taken today off. They're insisting I come in, apparently it's a crisis situation."

"Maybe it is."

"It's not," he said. "Trust me. They just don't want to do any work."

Rose put her arms around him. "I'd think that would be easier with you gone."

"When I'm there they can push things off on me. Claim they don't have the authority to handle certain tasks," Cal said. She pressed her fingers into his shoulders. The muscles were hard and knotted. He closed his eyes as she pressed down harder, kneading them between her hands.

"Were you always this tense before?" she asked. "Back then?"

"I've been this tense my whole life." His eyes opened slightly. "Actually, I didn't notice until that phone call. When we were outside with Louisa, I felt fantastic."

"You seemed relaxed."

"I was," he agreed. "It used to take a few drinks to get me close to the way I feel with the two of you."

Her lips brushed his. He pulled her closer. Why did she always feel so small against him? Was it because part of him still feared he would hurt her again? "Rose?"

Rose smiled up at him. "We have a few hours until the baby wakes up." She unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his throat. "And you're here with me."

In one quick motion Cal swept her up into his arms. Rose laughed. "I wasn't expecting that," she said.

"It's good to know I can surprise you," he said, kissing her.

…..

Rose curled up against him. His arms encircled her. His head lay on her shoulder. She gently rubbed his back, releasing the few remaining knots. "I never did this before you," Cal said.

"I know that isn't true."

"I did _that_ ," he said. "But I never stayed in bed this way."

"You never went to bed in the afternoon?"

"Sure I did," he replied. "I just never stayed. I didn't-This, us holding each other, I've only done that with you." He looked up at her. "I never wanted to do anything like this before you, Rose."

"You missed out on so much. I need this part," she said. "It would hurt if you just left; it would feel like you didn't care, like it didn't mean anything."

"Before you, I didn't care. I'm not proud of that," Cal said. "But that's the way it was. I enjoyed women, but there weren't any feelings attached."

"None? You didn't like any of them even a little?"

"Not as people," he replied. "I didn't talk to them or expect much else from them."

Once again Rose thought how lucky she was to have met Jack when she did. How many women could say their first experiences with a man were as loving and pleasurable as hers? She felt sad for Cal even as she wished for something better for all those women in his past.

"Did I upset you?" he asked.

"No. You just made me think."

"About Jack?"

"How did you know?" Rose said.

"Lucky guess."

"You don't believe in luck," she reminded him.

"Even so."

"I'm that obvious?" she said.

"It doesn't bother me that you think about him. I know you'll always love him more."

"Not more, just differently," she said. "What you told me just now, it reminded me of him, of when we first-he wasn't like that. I think he would've held me for the rest of the night if he could have."

"I know that feeling."

…..

"It's nearly dinnertime," Rose said, pulling on her dress. In the next room she heard Louisa happily burbling to the toys in her cradle.

"That reminds me. I'm taking you somewhere tonight," Cal said. Deftly, he buttoned her dress.

"Where?"

"That's a surprise," he replied. He kissed her curls. "Say you'll go? I promise you'll enjoy it."

"What about the baby? We can't leave her alone."

"Of course we won't leave her alone," he said. "The nurse can take care of her. It's only a few hours, Rose. If you feed her before we leave, she'll hardly know we're gone."

A night out, just the two of them, did sound nice, but Rose had never left Louisa alone. When the nurse took care of her she was always just a room away, ready to hurry in if she was needed. "We don't have to go," Cal said, seeing the hesitation in her eyes.

"I want to," Rose said. "I have to learn to leave her sometimes. I can't spend every minute with her. That wouldn't be good for either of us. You're right. She'll be fine."

…

The next ship to Australia didn't leave for another three weeks. Jack traipsed up and down the docks, searching for a ship going in that general direction that was leaving sooner. There were none. He had just enough for a third class ticket, thanks to the collection Mary and the other nurses took up for him. The idea of getting on a ship again terrified him in a way he couldn't bring himself to admit. Instead, he focused on ways to earn money during the coming weeks. He wouldn't need much to get by until he left, but there was always the problem of how he'd live when he finally got there.

There were fish stands just off the docks. The sign was hanging on the first one he passed. _Help Wanted_. A portly man with a thick mustache stood behind the counter, knife in hand. He was clearly the owner and sole employee.

"You need help?" Jack said casually, indicating the sign with a nod. The man gave him a searching look. "Maybe," he said. "You don't look too strong, though."

"I am," Jack said. "I can do anything you need."

Sean's eyes were doubtful. Jack was thinner than usual, even after weeks of nourishing, solid food. His tan was long gone, and there were still dark hollows under his eyes. He looked every inch the recovering invalid. "Have you done this kind of work before?" Sean asked.

"No, but I've done lotsa other things," Jack said. "I learn quick. I know how I look. Just give me a chance. What've you got to lose?"

There was something intriguing about this man. Sean didn't know why, but he found himself saying, "Alright. You can have a try. There's another apron in the back. You'd better not be squeamish."

"I'm not." As he passed, Jack held out his hand. "Jack Dawson."

"Sean O'Casey."

"Thanks, Sean. You're really helping me out," Jack said.

"Gut a few fish and then say that," Sean replied amiably.

….

"Why do I have to close my eyes?" Rose asked.

"Because it's a surprise," Cal replied. "Will you, please?"

"Alright." As she closed her eyes, Rose couldn't help thinking of Jack. His voice filled her ears. _Close your eyes_. Cal took her hand, and for a moment she thought it was Jack. _That's absurd_ , she scolded herself. Thinking about Jack from time to time was one thing, but this was too much. It wasn't fair, and she knew it would only open the wound again.

"Almost there," Cal said. "A few more steps." He led Rose forward, one hand on her waist. "Here," he said. "You can open your eyes now."

Rose held her breath as she took in the sight before her. The painting covered most of the wall. She had never seen anything like it. She walked the length of it; her gaze roamed across every brush stroke. The colors were so vivid. The poppies looked ready to burst into flames. Rose reached out to touch one but caught herself in time. She laughed.

"Do you like it?" Cal asked.

"Do I like it? Cal, it's marvelous. It's too incredible for words." Rose didn't take her eyes off the painting. "This is where you wanted to bring me?"

"I thought you'd enjoy it here," he said. "There's more."

"More?"

"A few dozen more," he said. "If you'd like to see them,"

"I could look at this one forever. I don't know if I can handle the others." She laughed again. "How did you find this place?"

"I have ways," Cal said with a grin. He slipped his hand into hers. "It's a bit interesting," he added. "At least I can tell what this one's supposed to be."

"I'll teach you about art, if you'll let me," Rose offered.

"I can't promise to like all of it."

"You don't have to," she said. "The fact that you're willing to come with me and try is enough."

They walked through the gallery slowly. Rose drank in each painting like water in a desert. She couldn't get enough, and for once she didn't think about the baby, that is, until she heard a clock chime the hour. "Is it really so late?" she said. Her stomach rumbled, and she remembered they hadn't eaten dinner yet. "We should be getting home."

Cal put his arm around her as they made their way back to the entrance. As they passed the first painting Rose paused to glance at it one last time. "Do you want it?" he asked quietly.

"What? No, that's ridiculous," she said.

"Why?"

"Cal, you can't buy that painting for me."

"Yes, I can," he said.

…

Cleaning fish really wasn't that hard. Jack had done it before, though never this many at once or for quiet so long. When he fished with his father they only caught enough for dinner. "Not bad," Sean said approvingly.

"Thanks."

"Why'd you want this job?" Sean asked.

"Need the money," Jack said. "Going to Australia next months."

"Seeking your fortune and all that?"

"Sort of," Jack said. "There's someone there I hafta find. If I don't…." He didn't finish the sentence. It was too painful to think about.


	20. Chapter 20

For the next week Cal came home early. Sometimes it was only an hour or two early, but most days he was there by noon. "They'll get along without me," he said, waving away Rose's questions. "I'd rather be here."

"We'd rather have you here," she said.

As if in agreement, Louisa reached for him. "I still expect her to start screaming when she sees me," he said, picking her up.

"What makes you expect that?"

"Children have never cared for me," he replied. "Not even when I was a child."

"But Louisa's different," Rose pointed out. "You're raising her. She thinks of you as her father."

"I hope she always does." Cal looked from her to Rose. "Let's take her out for the day."

"Out? To where?"

"Anywhere. What's something you want to do?" he said.

"You can't take a baby dancing," she replied.

"I didn't know you wanted to do that."

"I haven't danced in a long time," she said. "It isn't fun without a good partner. And I didn't feel like it after…."

Cal let the moment pass before he asked, "Would I be a good partner?"

"Yes." Rose smiled. "You'd be a great partner."

"Then we'll go one evening, just the two of us," he said. "If you won't mind leaving the baby."

"It doesn't bother me quite as much anymore. I don't _like_ it," she explained. "But I know it has to happen, sometimes, and she's in good hands."

"So, the nurse is working out?"

"She's fine," Rose aid. "She was a bit stern at first, but overall, she's a kind, capable girl. She reminds me of the nurse I had. I loved her."

"I couldn't stand mine," Cal said.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Actually, I had two," he said. "The first was the one I couldn't stand. She was a cold, English woman who spent more time brewing tea than looking after me."

"So, that's where your hatred of the English comes from. I always wondered."

"I don't hate the English," he said.

Rose laughed. "Yes, dear, you do."

"Well, I'm glad you're happy with Louisa's nurse," he said. "I know you don't want her taking on too much responsibility."

"I just don't want Louisa to feel closer to her than she does to me. _I'm_ her mother. I should be the one taking care of her when I can."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about, Rose," Cal said. "If she loves me, she loves you more."

"It's not a context. We aren't trying to win her affection. Spoiling her isn't necessary," Rose added in a meaningful tone.

"Are you implying something?"

"Of course not," she said. "You wouldn't do that."

"You can't spoil an infant. She doesn't yet know how to _be_ spoiled. She doesn't know what excess is."

"She will, sooner than you think," Rose replied.

"So, you want me to stop bringing her things?"

"Not entirely," she said. "Just don't bring her a gift every day."

"I'll try not to. Can I bring _you_ things?" he asked.

"Cal."

"Rose." He looked into her eyes. "I mean it. You're too old to be spoiled, and you resist all my efforts to do so."

"Doesn't that make it a waste of time?"

"Not at all," he answered. "I'm an optimist." He grinned at Louisa, who smiled back.

…

It only took a couple of hours for Jack to decide he hated the smell of fish. He'd forgotten how thick it was, how it got into his nose, his throat, and overwhelmed every breath. When he went home it was in his clothes; people stepped away from him on the street. He tried not to notice. It wasn't as though he were interested in making friends anyway. He kept his things, what few he had, packed and ready to go; his ticket was folded in an envelope and kept with his art supplies.

"Still want to work here?" Sean asked on the second day.

Jack nodded. "If you haven't changed your mind."

"I haven't. You did good work yesterday. Let's see you do it again."

Jack put his apron on and picked up a knife. "You will," he promised.

They said little at first. Sean watched Jack with interest, wondering what hidden passions motivated him. Who was this young man? Where did he come from, and why was he going so far away in such a hurry? Jack offered no information. He gave only perfunctory replies. He wasn't unpleasant, merely reticent.

On the fourth day Sean's curiosity got the better of him. "You're determined to sail for Australia?" he said.

"Uh-huh." Jack didn't lift his eyes from the fish he was cutting up.

"What happened?"

Jack's tone was guarded. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's clear _something_ happened to ya," Sean said. 'You've got that sick look about you."

"I do?" Jack had hoped he was shedding his invalid days; clearly, he was wrong.

"It's not that bad. You just look like you've been sick for a while. You lost a lotta weight, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I did," Jack answered. "I've been living on water and soup for months. Just started eating solid foods again. I haven't been out of bed l0ong."

"So, what's the hurry?" Sean asked. "Trying to make up for lost time?"

"Something like that. I'm, uh, I'm going to find my wife."

"Your wife?" Sean said.

"She thinks I'm dead," Jack explained. "It's a long story. There was an accident. I have to find her, as soon as I can."

Sean hid his surprise. "You're not worried there's someone else?"

"I don't know. Maybe. There's a guy. A friend of hers…I don't know that he won't try and take advantage of the situation," Jack said. "I've been gone so long. Maybe I can't blame him. I don't know if I'd blame her for giving up. We've dealt with a lot. This might be too much."

"But you're goin after her anyway," Sean said. "You believe there's hope."

"I don't give up," Jack said. Neither did Rose, but that could mean different things, a fact he tried not to think about. He hadn't dreamed of her since waking up. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. He didn't know what to make of her being pregnant in the last dream either. Lately it didn't mean anything. It was just the natural progression of the dream life he'd build. They'd been talking about the possibility of children in the days before the accident. That's all it was, a possibility, an unlikely possibility, at best. He remembered what they'd been told. Rose's body wouldn't let her have them.

…..

"Perhaps this wasn't the best idea,' Rose said. She looked around the immaculate room with its artistic treasures. The other patrons appreciated the works in hushed tones or reverential silences. There wasn't a single child in sight, aside from Louisa.

"You said you wanted Louisa to grow up surrounded by art," Cal reminded her. "To grow up appreciating the beauty in the world. It's too cold to sit in the garden, so I brought you here."

"But what if she disturbs the other visitors? Or touches something she shouldn't?" Rose said.

"Rose, she's a baby. What she does is mostly up to us," he said mildly. "And she looks happy to me." He touched Louisa's cheek. "You're happy, aren't you, Little One?" Louisa made a sound that was almost but not quite a word. "Tell your mother, so she'll stop worrying," he added.

Cal held Louisa against his chest. They both looked Rose, his brown eyes and her blue ones, and she was overwhelmed with love, her own and theirs. "Alright. Let's try it," she said.

…

"Do you like that one?" Rose asked encouragingly. Louisa stared at the painting, but Rose had no way of knowing if she was really seeing it. Were the colors just a blur to her? Or did she understand its magnificence, on some level? She was Jack's daughter, after all; it seemed impossible she wouldn't. These attempts to bring art and beauty into her life weren't just a way to develop her senses and expand her interests later on. Rose told herself that's all it was, but really, they were attempts to keep Jack alive for her. If she could bring out the parts of Louisa that came from him, Jack would be alive, in some small way.

"I think she does," Cal said.

"You're just saying that."

"No, I really do think she likes it. She keeps looking at it. Her attention may only be on the colors, but that's something, isn't it?"

Rose looked at him, a half-smile on her face. "It is."

He tilted his head. "What is it, Rose?"

"Nothing."

"You don't look like it's nothing," he said.

"And you can read me so well?"

"Better than you think I can," he said. "You don't have to tell me anything, though."

"I was just thinking how surreal it is to be in an art gallery with _you_ , of all people, and encouraging out baby to look at paintings," Rose said.

His heart skipped a beat at the word "our." She had never used that word in connection with Louisa before. Neither had he. It was something he'd said to himself and to Louisa but never to Rose. He hadn't expected her to every say it, despite his role as the baby's father. Cal pretended nothing unusual had been said. It was best not to draw attention to it. Rose might regret bestowing that honor on him. "But it's also wonderful," she added.

"Is it?"

"You don't think so?" she said.

"No, I do."

Rose looked into his eyes, and the air grew thick. "Let's go find that painting from last time," she suggested.

"Your favorite?"

"Yes, that one. I didn't see it on the way through. They must have moved it," she said.

The search was fruitless. The paintings wasn't on any wall. "That's odd," Rose remarked. "I expected it to be here." She frowned. 'I wanted Louisa to see it. And I wanted to study it again."

"I wouldn't worry," Cal said. "It'll probably be back. Maybe they lent it for display somewhere else?"

"Maybe."

…

Cal held Louisa in the car on the way home. He carried her inside and settled her on his lap. While he read the newspaper, she leaned against him, dozing. Rose watched them for nearly the entire paper before she said, "She'll be hungry soon. It's almost time for dinner."

"Do you need to take her?" Cal asked.

"Not yet. She'll tell us when she's hungry."

"I've noticed," he said, placing a kiss on Louisa's head.

It wasn't the first time Rose observed how often Cal touched the baby. He held her every chance he got. He carried her and was always willing to take her when Rose needed a break. Most of the time she didn't even have to ask; he offered. His behavior was so unlike what she would have expected of him in the past. He loved Louisa with a depth the old Cal wasn't capable of. He loved her too. As she watched them, Rose imagined more children, olive-skinned with dark red hair. Their children.

…..

She wouldn't come to his dreams. Jack focused on her, picturing her face, remembering her touch, her voice, but she wouldn't appear. No longer afraid of being lost in dreams, he turned to them for answers. The last dream felt real, near the end, despite what he told himself. Rose shimmered, and she was there. It sounded crazy, and Jack wasn't sure it was safe to believe in. Their love couldn't really transcend space and time, could it?

The days crawled by. Every morning he drew another X on the calendar. Every X brought him closer to leaving. Until finally, there were no more X's left.

Jack could see out the window from his bed. The ocean was miles away, but he imagined it easily. In a few hours he would be on a ship, sailing for Australia. Sailing to Rose.

….

"You're here early," Sean said.

"It's my last day," Jack reminded him. "Might as well get the most out of it."

"You're still determined to go then?"

"Of course," Jack said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I thought maybe you'd decide to stay around a while longer. You've got a job. Why leave?"

"Thanks, but I can't stay," Jack replied. "There's someone I have to find, remember?"

"Oh yeah, your wife."

"I'll find her. I know I will," Jack said.

"I hope so," Sean said. "And I hope she wants to be found as much as you want to find her."

"She'll be happy to see me. She wants me back. We're meant to be together," Jack said.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just know," Jack said. "After everything we've overcome, I can't give up. Not now. She thinks I'm dead, but that doesn't mean she's stopped loving me."

There was more Sean wanted to say, but he just nodded. Jack wasn't his son, and it wasn't his place to tell him not to go. Maybe he was right. Maybe this girl was waiting for him, hoping he would return, expecting it somehow. Maybe they _were_ meant to be together. But then again, maybe they weren't. Maybe that's what all those obstacles were trying to tell them all along.

…..

Rose glanced at the clock. Half past seven. The sun had long since gone down. Louisa's cries were quiet, but Rose could tell she was getting ready to wail. She bounced her gently as she paced. "It's alright," she said soothingly. "It's fine. What are you so upset about, darling?" Rose brushed back her hair. Her little face was scrunched up; her cheeks were red. "You aren't hungry. You've had your bath. You don't want to sleep. You don't want to play. What do you want?"

Rose sat down in the rocking chair. "If only you could tell me," she said. They rocked slowly. Rose murmured to the baby and tried not to look at the clock. Gradually, Louisa quieted and fell asleep.

Rose saw the time as she put her in the crib. 8:40. Past her bedtime and past time for Cal to be home. As if she didn't already know. "You want him, don't you?" Rose whispered. "That's what's wrong. You don't understand why he isn't here." She shook her head. "I don't know either."

Cal said he would be home early. Before he left he kissed her and promised to be home around lunchtime. When it came and went, with no sign of Cal, Rose wasn't worried. There were plenty of reasons why he might be late. Perhaps he got held up in a meeting. Or there was an unexpected telephone call. Possibly there was traffic. But when his usual arrival time came and went with still no sign of him, Rose began to worry.

She left both doors to Louisa's room open and went downstairs to continue her pacing in front of the fire in the sitting room. She didn't even try not to look at the clock now. The minutes ticked by, and her anxiety worsened. What if something had happened to him? What if he was hurt? Rose twisted her hands together. The thoughts came, pouring over her. This couldn't be happening again.

…..

The front hall was dark when Cal stepped in. He dropped his things with a heavy sigh. Finally, he was home. The house was silent, save for the crackle of the fire. It had burned down low, but it still managed to cast a light across the room. Rose was slumped on the couch, asleep. Her hair was pinned back; she still wore her dress.

For a moment Cal just gazed down at her. The day's events didn't seem so terrible anymore. He bent down and picked her up, doing his best not to disturb her. She made a sound in her throat and moved her head. "Sshh," he whispered. "We're just going to bed, Rose."

Cal looked in on Louisa before letting himself lie down. She slept soundly. He kissed her. "I'm sorry I wasn't here, Little One," he whispered.

When he put his arms around rose she curled up against him. Cal closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the day hung on him like chains.

….

"When did you come in?" Rose asked. She looked around. "I don't remember coming up here."

"I brought you to bed," Cal answered. "You were asleep downstairs. It was around midnight."

"Why did you come home so late? We were worried, you know."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Why didn't you call?" Anger colored her voice. "I was going crazy thinking about all the things that might have happened to you. Louisa cried for you for over an hour."

"She did?" He sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I told my secretary to call you, Rose."

"I don't want her to call. I want _you_ to call," Rose said. "Cal, it's _you_ we want."

"I know." He took her hand. "If I could've gotten home sooner, Rose, believe me, I would have."

"What happened?"

"All those early days caught up with me," Cal answered. "Work was being ignored, by me and by everyone else when I was hone. Each time I thought I was finished, there was something else, another file to look at, another phone call to take, a contract to approve. New stock to buy. Meetings to schedule. I won't do that again, rose. I won't make you worry."

"I was afraid you..." Rose looked down at their clasped hands. Cal lifted her chin. "Nothing is going to happen to me," he promised. "I won't leave you."

"Jack said the same thing."

He pulled her to him. Rose buried her face in his shirt. His arms were strong around her. She smelled him, the clean, spicy scent of his skin and clothes. She felt him breathe. "I can't lose you too," she said.

"As long as you want me Rose, I'll be here. Trust me."

…..

It was waiting when they came home. Louisa noticed it first. She spotted it as they walked into the nursery. It hung on the wall opposite their bed, above the mantel. She let out an excited cry. "What is it?" Rose said. She glanced over her shoulder. "There's nothing-" Her words were lost in a gasp. "He didn't!"

The painting was even more beautiful than she remembered. Rose stepped closer, turning Louisa so she could see it better. "He didn't," she repeated, though it was obvious he had. Louisa laughed and reached for one of the flowers. "It's wonderful, isn't it?" Rose shook her head. How did he manage to get it into the house before their walk was over?

She could already hear what he would say if asked about it. "Rose, you know there's nothing I can't do for you."

…

The wind whipped Jack's hair back. He stared straight ahead, feet planted on the railing. The ship plunged through the water, but no speed would have been fast enough to satisfy him. At least he was on his way now. That was some comfort.


	21. Chapter 21

All the bunks in Jack's room were occupied. Two of his roommates were brothers. Originally from Ireland, they were disillusioned with America and were heading to Australia in search of the dream that had so far eluded them in two countries. The third man was an Australian. As he explained to Jack the first night, he was on his way home after five years away. I wanted to see the world," Clark said. "But it wasn't what I expected."

"How do you mean?" Jack asked.

"I thought I'd find something better than I had at home, some place more exciting, but I didn't."

"I found plenty of places more exciting than home, my original home anyway," Jack replied. Dinner was ending, and the tables were emptying around them.

"You've traveled a lot?" Clark said.

Jack nodded. "For a long time. Since I was fifteen."

"I can't imagine being on my own that young."

"You get used to it," Jack said. "I was on my own whether I liked it or now. I figured I might as well do what I wanted, you know?"

"Why Australia?" Clark asked. "Or is it just an undiscovered country for you?"

Jack hesitated. How much should he tell this man? He sensed the beginning of a friendship, if he let it happen, but he didn't have time for that, and didn't all of his friends end up hurt or dead eventually? He was probably a walking bad luck charm. "I know someone there," he said. "I need to see them."

Clark seemed to accept this explanation. He asked no more questions, at least.

…..

"You should've have done it," Rose said. Cal sat on the floor, Louisa on his lap. Toys were spread around them.

"You didn't want it?" he said.

"Well, of course I wanted it, but Cal that doesn't mean-"

"So, why shouldn't you have it?" he said.

"Just because I want something doesn't mean I get to have it. Life doesn't work that way."

"Not with everything, that's true," Cal said. Rose was taken aback by his willingness to admit a limit to his powers. "But there are so few things I can't give you and can't do for you," he went on. "Why not enjoy all that I _can_ do, Rose?"

They came from love, these gifts, this generosity; he acted out of love, not an urge to control her. Everything Cal did, he did as extravagantly as he could. She'd seen herself how far he could take things when he wanted to. Nothing was beyond the line. So why was she surprised to find an eventually priceless painting hanging in their bedroom?

"I don't want to end up a spoiled, helpless wife," Rose said. "Throwing tantrums when my whims aren't met."

"Haven't we discussed this? You'll never end up that way. I won't spoil Louisa," he added. "It's hard not to, but I promised you I wouldn't, and I meant it. I intend for her to have everything, but I don't want her ending up like my sister. Or like me," he added drily.

Rose knelt down next to them. "Thank you," she said. "For the painting. I never thanked you yesterday."

"You don't have to, Rose."

"Of course I do," she said. "I can't take you for granted. Then I _would_ be spoiled." She leaned over the baby and kissed him. Louisa watched contentedly. She sensed their love, not just for her but for each other as well, and it made her feel safe. She was too young to wonder why her father looked nothing like her. She couldn't ask questions about why there wasn't a wedding album, or why they lived so far away from everyone her parents had ever known.

…

The deck wasn't crowded, despite the nice weather. Jack found a seat easily. He hadn't planned to come up there, but after two days in his room he realized he couldn't spend the whole trip there. The air was getting stale, and he was tired of looking at the wall.

He opened his sketchbook and settled into draw. He let his gaze roam across his fellow passengers, seeking out inspiration. His hand moved on its own; his eyes followed, glancing from the people around him to the page and back again. Jack completed two drawings before he remembered where he was.

He blinked, startled by the sudden change in time. The sun was lower in the sky. It glared into his eyes. He turned and found himself staring up at the First Class deck. A woman stood at the railing. Jack held his breath. It was her. Rose. She looked down at him, tilting her head in confusion. He blinked again; the sun was gone, sinking into the water, and so was she. The woman at the railing was a stranger. She looked nothing like rose. She said something to the man next to her, and he gave Jack a cold look before sweeping her inside.

"You alright?"

Jack drew back, startled by Clark's voice. "What're you doing here?" he asked, more sharply than he intended.

"Just taking a walk," Clark replied, unaffected by Jack's tone. "Thought I'd say hello. You don't look so good, Jack."

"I'm fine. The—the sun was in my eyes."

"The sun or that girl?" Clark said. "I saw her too. She was pretty."

"Really? I didn't notice."

"What, you don't notice girls?" Clark said.

"Not so much anymore," Jack said.

"Something happen?"

"You could say that," Jack said. He closed the sketchbook and put away his pencil. "I don't wanna talk about it, alright?"

"Well, you want to come down to the party later? I hear it's gonna be a good one," Clark said. "And you've barely left the room so far. It might be what you need."

"I doubt it."

"Look, we don't know each other," Clark said. "It's probably none of my business, but you seem like you're going through something, like you're having a hard time. So, if you want to talk or just come have a beer later, I'll be there."

"Thanks," Jack said. "But I'm fine, really."

…

Jack didn't know what compelled him to go to the party. Clark's offer stayed with him for the next few hours. Here was the friendship he'd sensed earlier. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if maybe it wouldn't be good for him. Sean had tried to be his friend, but he left, ending that. Still, it felt good to talk about everything that happened; it was almost a relief to talk about Rose. Jack was lonely, whether he wanted to admit it or not, and it would be weeks before he was anywhere near her again. What harm could making friends do?

"Jack, over here!" Clark called, waving to him. "You want a drink?" Before Jack could answer Clark passed him a full pint of beer.

"Thanks," Jack said. He took a sip. The taste was comforting in spite of its bitterness. How long had it been since he had one?

"This is Mae," Clark said, indicating a buxom girl with peroxide blonde curls. She grinned good-naturedly at Jack. "Hi doll," she said.

"And that's Lionel," Clark continued. A dignified man with dark hair nodded at Jack.

"Good to meet you," Jack said. He took another drink. The bitterness was gone; it just tasted familiar now, good even. If he kept drinking, all the edges would blur, and his sadness would blur along with them. Jack never drank to soothe pain, but as he took a deeper swallow, he wondered if it was really such a bad idea.

…..

Laughter echoed in the smoke-filled room. Jack couldn't tell if it was one person's laughter or if it was the whole party laughing together. The band played a lively Scottish tune. He recognized it. What were the words? He'd known them once. He sang this song, a long time ago.

"You look like you're having fun," Lionel said. He produced a worn deck of cards. "Care for a little game?"

"Hold off on that," Mae said. "He's been drinking."

"We all have," Lionel argued.

"You're drinking cider," Mae said. "And _not_ the hard kind." Lionel shot her a look. "Don't pretend I'm not right," she said.

"I don't mind playing," Jack said. An empty pint glass was near one hand. A glass of whisky was in the other.

"You know about cards?" Clark asked. His own glass was nearly empty. Two others sat near it, already drained. His cheeks were flushed.

"A little," Jack said. "I used to play a lot." His words slurred, but they sounded normal to him. Mae eyed him with concern. "Jack, maybe you ought to go bed," she said. "You look like you've had enough."

"I—" Jack couldn't think of anything to say. He was saved from having to reply by Clark, who chose that moment to topple from his chair. He landed on the floor with a groan and a thump, nearly knocking over a nearby couple. Jack dissolved in a fit of laughter. Clark looked around, confused, before laughter overtook him as well.

"Maybe—" Jack struggled to breathe. "Maybe we should head back." He lay his head on the table, still giggling.

"You'll hafta get me up," Clark wheezed.

Somehow they made it back to their room and collapsed into their bunks. Jack slid into a dreamless sleep and for once he wasn't worried about whether or not Rose would appear; he just slept, and it was a relief.

….

"We'll have to get her new clothes soon," Rose said. "She's growing so fast. I never realized how quickly babies grow." She lifted the now-dressed Louisa into her arms. "Yes, you are," she said. "You're growing much too quickly. I don't like it."

"Getting her new clothes won't be any trouble," Cal said. "I can go with you, if you'd like."

"You would come along on a shopping trip for the baby?" she said. "That hardly sounds like an interesting day for you."

"Why not? I like being with my family, and you never know, I might be helpful."

"With shopping?" she said. "Well, now that you mention it, you always did like helping me choose dress designs, didn't you?"

"I meant I could help with Louisa," Cal said. "But you could use some new clothes as well, Rose."

"My clothes are fine."

"They're old," he said. "Some of them are wearing out." She started to argue as he went on, "This isn't about fashion. I don't want you wearing anything you don't like. I just want you to have nice things. That's all."

"Don't you have to work?"

"I'll figure out a way to take a few hours off," he said. "This week has been nothing but ten-hour days. I deserve an afternoon off."

"And we deserve an afternoon with you," she said.

"If we're lucky, we'll get the whole day."

"I thought you didn't believe in luck," Rose said.

"I'm not so certain anymore. I haven't been certain about much of anything for a long time. Except for you," he added. "These last months, things have sort of fallen into place again. I no longer feel like the ground might give way beneath me at any moment."

"I didn't know you still felt that way."

"It wasn't that bad," Cal said. "It wasn't like the way I felt when we first came together. I could handle it, usually."

"We've done a lot of healing together, haven't we?" Rose said. She kissed Louisa. "And you've helped me a lot, darling. I don't know what I would have down without the two of you."

Cal put his arms around them. He rested his head on Rose's shoulder. "I could say the same thing."

….

Cal signed his name with a flourish. It looked good. Bold. Commanding. He blew on the ink to help it dry faster and put the last paper into an envelope. His secretary would mail it along with the rest. He slipped into his coat and was about to leave when the phone rang. Sighing, he answered it. "Yes?"

"Mr. Hockley, I hate to disturb you, but-"

"Then don't," he said.

"But-" his secretary protested.

"I'm leaving for the rest of the day. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow."

"Sir, I'm not sure it can," she said.

"Unless it's a matter of dire importance, unless there's some calamity about to befall this company," he said. "It can wait."

"Very well, sir."

He set the phone down with a satisfied smile. It was difficult to resist the urge to stay; all his instincts and years of training told him not to leave, but he'd promised Rose, and that was more important than even the amassing of wealth.

…..

Jack's mouth tasted like dry cotton; his head ached; the last week was a blur. He remembered the first night. He remembered going to the party, the pints of beer followed by glasses of Irish whisky. Stumbling back to his room and sleeping. Oh, the sleeping he'd done.

When he woke up he told himself it wouldn't happen again. He hadn't drank in over a year. He'd just gotten carried away. Maybe he needed to get a little carried away after all that had happened, but he wouldn't do it again. Jack washed his face with cold water. His reflection was puffy, the eyes bloodshot. He was a pitiful sight.

"What would Rose think if you could see you?" he asked himself. "You don't run away from things. You face them. You don't give up. Isn't that what you always tell her? This isn't like you."

Jack kept his resolve for the rest of the day. He even tried to go to bed early, but he tossed and turned, lonelier than ever. Rose wasn't there. She was so far away, too far for him to reach. Deep down, he feared she always would be. He didn't want to believe it. She still loved him; she had to; a love like theirs wouldn't just end. But could he actually expect her to be waiting for him to appear, back from the dead yet again?

But if she wasn't out there, waiting, then what was the point of all this? If only she were closer. This waiting was torture.

He could end it. The solution was only temporary, but that's all he needed, just something to help him get through the trip. Something to help him sleep. To help him not feel so empty. So lonely.

There were cheers at the table when Jack arrived. He accepted the pint with a grin and drained most of it in one gulp. He felt better already.

…

Rose wouldn't agree to it. Cal knew without asking. It was the last thing she would ever want to do. It wasn't something he wanted her to do. His family and his business were separate. That was the only way it could work. He couldn't bring Rose back into that world, even if she was willing to go.

But the partners were relentless. A reclusive wife is no help, they argued. Ours are hostesses; they support our endeavors when we need it. Yours should as well. They didn't know Rose; they didn't understand why she was more interested in raising her child herself than in playing Society Wife. Did what they thought really matter? His was the controlling interest; his votes, his voice, held more weight than all of theirs combined. He had more money. The surge of growth the company was experiencing was due to his efforts. His skills were bringing them profits they'd only dreamed of before. So why wouldn't we do what he wanted and let Rose do the same?

She appeared at the top of the stairs as he came in. Her curls tumbled down her back. She wore one of her new dresses, a dark green velvet. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled. "You're home early again," she said.

"And you are quite dressed up," he said, kissing her.

"Do you think-"

"I think you look wonderful," Cal said. "I didn't expect to find you like this."

"I have new things. I may as well wear them."

"So, it's not on my account?" he said amiably.

There was a flirtatious lilt in her voice. "Perhaps it is," she said. "But I can't let your opinion of yourself get too high."

"No, we wouldn't want that to happen again."

"I hoped you'd make it home early," Rose said seriously. "And I _did_ want to look nice, in case."

"You're always beautiful." Cal kissed her again. "Where's Louisa?"

"She's having her nap."

"Will she be asleep long?"

"She just went down," Rose said. "Why?"

Cal offered her his arm. "Would you care to take a walk with me?"

"Just a walk? There's no hidden destination? No extravagant gift at the end?"

"Just an ordinary walk," he said. "It's a lovely day, and you'll make it even lovelier."

….

There was a chill in the air, though the sun was bright and the sky cloudless. Rose drew closer to him, glad for her dress's thickness. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"Nowhere, really."

"Cal, you hate wandering," she said.

"You don't. We could go to the beach," he offered.

"We'll ruin our clothes if we do."

"And we'll get new ones," Cal said with a shrug.

"There's no need to be wasteful," Rose replied. "There are plenty of better things we could do with that money. Besides, I'm not so drawn to the ocean anymore."

"You aren't? Why not?"

"I thought it would bring me closer to Jack," she answered. "I know now that won't happen. It can't. And even if it could, I'm not sure it would be for the best."

"You wouldn't take him back if there was a way?" Cal asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"I don't know. I dreamt about that for so long. I spent all those years wanting him back, and when I got him, I lost him again. I haven't let go of him. You know that, but I'm happy. I don't know if I'd trade this life for another," Rose said thoughtfully. "It's everything I never knew I wanted. You aren't the same Cal, and I'm not the same Rose."

"You're the Rose I love," Cal said. "The Rose I need."

"And you're the Cal I need."

…..

The days became another week. Every morning Jack promised himself he'd stay away. He'd draw. He'd go to bed early. Eat only good foods and not stomach coating bread and grease. He'd let the headache go away on its own. He'd fall asleep without help. He'd scrub himself clean. Every morning Jack promised himself he wouldn't drink again, and every night he forgot that promise. It was easy to make with the light piercing his eyes and his stomach rolling and twisting, when the only thing he felt was shame at his own weakness. _This isn't me_ , he told himself again and again. _I am not this guy. This is not the Jack Rose loves._

He'd never had a problem with drinking before. Jack knew when to stop. He liked the feeling it gave, the warm, loose happiness, but he didn't rely on it. Even at his lowest, he never sought false comfort.

Jack plunged himself into the frigid water. So why was he so drawn to it now?

….

"Hey, Jack!" Clark called. "Wait."

Jack turned and slowed his pace. "Hey. Haven't seen you in a few days," he said.

"I'm surprised you've seen anything," Clark replied.

"What's that mean?"

"Just the way you've been knocking it back," Clark said. "You've been a bit out there."

"Yeah, well, I've been under a lotta stress," Jack replied, avoiding his eyes. "And when we get to Adelaide I'll be fine."

"You sure?" Clark asked. "If there's something bothering you, Jack, something you need to talk about-"

"I'm alright," Jack insisted. "I've got everything under control."


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: I usually post two chapters a week, but I'm really not feeling up getting the second chapter typed out. It'll be up in a few days!**

Jack was wrong. He didn't have anything under control. By the time they docked in Adelaide he'd drunk more than he had in the past five years. His head ached constantly; he barely ate, and when he did, everything tasted like sand. His eyes were bloodshot, and his skin had taken on a sickly color. It was harder to see at night, under the dim lights, but in the morning it was unavoidable. He looked worse now than when he first woke up in the hospital.

But he could sleep again. He didn't feel empty. The loneliness didn't cut through him anymore. That was something, wasn't it? And he could stop, he told himself. Anytime. He _would_ stop, just as soon as he was off the ship. He stood on deck, bag in hand, and waited to disembark. His empty stomach rolled, and he promised himself he would eat. He'd get himself back in order, and he would find Rose. It was a big city, but a man like Cal would be easy to find, and once he found Cal, he'd find Rose. Jack didn't allow himself to think much beyond that.

…..

"Mrs. Hockley?"

The name startled Rose. It couldn't be her, though of course, it was. Who else could it be? Myra looked at her expectantly. "Yes, I'm sorry," Rose said, shifting Louisa from one hip to the other. "What is it?"

"There are some ladies downstairs asking for you."

Rose's brow furrowed. "For me?" she said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Why?" She slipped over to the stairs and peered around the corner, doing her best not to be seen. She could just make out the group of women in the foyer. "What do they want, exactly?" she asked.

"They're the wives of your husband's business associates," Myra replied. She handed her a card. "They sent this to you."

In raised, gilt letters it read, _Mrs. Henry Monroe_ ; beneath that was an address and telephone number. No doubt she was the leader. "I suppose I have to see them," Rose said resignation in her voice.

"It would be rude not to."

"I thought I'd given up this sort of thing," Rose said to herself.

"Pardon, ma'am?"

"Nothing," Rose said. "I'm sorry. Will you have Alice come and look after the baby? Please? And tell the ladies I'll be right with them."

"Of course."

Rose was a lovely woman, always fair and always with a kind word for her, but although she liked her employer, Myra thought she was somewhat odd. This conversation did nothing to dispel that belief.

Rose kissed Louisa and set her in the crib. "I honestly thought this wouldn't happen," she said. She ruffled the baby's curls and sighed. "I suppose some price must be paid for this, and really, it could be so much worse."

Rose brushed her hair and tired it back with a ribbon, adding a few pins to hold it in place. She washed her face and smoothed her dress. It was new, not the best she owned, but changing would take too long.

She felt their eyes on her as she entered the parlor. The inspection made it easier to ignore the pain in her body. They were assembled on the sofas; a silver tea service was set up on the table. Myra had seen to that. Rose made a note to thank her. She hadn't even thought of ordering tea. They were dressed in deep, winter colors, greens and blues, greys and crimsons; their clothes were of thick velvet and soft wool.

Rose wore violet silk. At first she thought the color would be too strong next to her hair, but Cal insisted it was a good choice, and he was almost always right about such things. He had a knack with clothes. Rose liked to tease him about going into fashion design.

"I can already hear my family's screams of horror," he replied with a laugh.

Mrs. Henry Monroe sat at the center of the group. They all stood to greet her. Rose felt a strong sense of déjà vu. Her mother had sat at the head of such groups, once, and if she'd married Cal as expected Rose would have as well. It was, she thought, rather ironic to find herself married to him and yet still on the outside.

"I'm Mrs. Henry Monroe. Lydia." She held out a graceful hand. Rose nodded, already wishing the whole thing was over.

….

"Where you planning to go?" Clark asked. They walked along the docks. Thanks to a good breakfast and some sunshine-even if it was freezing-Jack was starting to look better. His had seemed to be clearing as well.

"Dunno exactly," Jack answered. "I thought I'd find a room and start looking."

"Right. Your mysterious quest. You know, if you tell me what you're after, I can help," Clark offered.

"I should do this alone."

"You don't seem like the alone type," Clark said. "Sorry. I don't mean any offense. You just seem like you'd do better with a friend along, and I've got nothing better to do."

Jack considered the offer. Two people could cover more ground, and it would be nice to have someone to talk to. And there was the other reason, the one he didn't want to admit. If Clark were there he might not be so tempted to drink. Jack told himself it wasn't a problem. It was just a way to feel better, to pass the time, but he knew it wasn't. He sensed the danger, though he couldn't bring himself to admit it. "Alright," he said. "Help would be nice."

"So, what're we looking for? I know the city pretty well," Clark said.

"My wife."

…

"To be honest, we weren't sure you really existed," Lydia said. She laughed lightly.

"Oh, yes, I'm quite real," Rose said.

"It's just you never go out."

"We don't have much time for socializing," Rose said. "Cal spends most of his time at the office, and when he _can_ get away he's home with us."

"Yes, you have a daughter, I believe," Lydia said. "How old is she?"

"Seven months."

"What a lovely age," Monica said. She sat to Rose's left. "I remember when my children were that young."

"How old are they now?" Rose asked, leaning toward her.

"Six and eight," Monica said. "Though of course, their nanny is a great help. She has been from the start."

This was a hint. Rose sensed it. With a start she realized these women looked down on her. They believed her to be uninformed; in their opinion, she didn't go out because she was too ignorant or too common to hire a nanny. No doubt they thought Cal had married beneath himself and speculated about why. Rose nearly laughed aloud. They didn't think she was odd, merely poor and to be pitied. If only they knew.

"I prefer to do most things myself," Rose said evenly. "I do have a nurse for the baby, and she helps at times."

"That's wonderful," Lydia said. "I hope you don't think I'm being rude, but you should engage her services more often. You should join our little circle. Friends can do you a world of good. And it isn't just for you," she added. "It's for your husband as well. A man like him needs a wife who can handle social functions; he needs a good hostess."

And that was a warning. Or a threat. Rose wasn't sure which. She wondered how they could possibly harm Cal, how her behavior could affect his business, but she also remembered the things her mother told her. There were many ways to ruin a life. Somehow, Rose had offended these women, and she was being given a chance to make up for it. No matter where they went, it was all still the same.

At least she loved Cal this time.

…

"They said that?" Cal looked at her over Louisa's head. Rose nodded. "More or less. Also, we are to attend a party on Thursday, and it's expected that we'll start hosting some of our own."

"Is that so?" He frowned. "I told their husbands to leave you alone."

"You did? What do their husbands have to do with this?"

"There have been complaints," he said. "They came to me talking about how we aren't doing our share socially."

"Cal, they weren't talking about you. They meant me, didn't they?" Rose said. " _I_ haven't been playing the role of your wife to their satisfaction."

"No, you haven't," he agreed. "And I don't care. I don't want you to."

"Don't you?" she said. "Can you honestly say you wouldn't like me to be more like those women? To take part in things?"

"I want you to be happy, Rose. I love you the way you are. What they think doesn't matter," Cal said. "They can't hurt us, and even if they could-" He shrugged. "We'll survive. I don't want things to change. Our life is good now."

"You don't know what they can do. Cal, you think these women are powerless, but I've seen groups like them. I've seen what they do to people they dislike."

"That only matters if we care," he argued. "They can't ostracize us from a group we aren't interested in joining. That's the problem, isn't it? We don't want to join."

" _I_ don't want to," Rose said. "I would be marvelous at it, if I set my mind to it. I was taught well."

"I don't doubt it. We were always the same. The best of everyone. Why do you think I wanted to marry you in the first place?"

"We can't think that way," she said. "I don't."

"We don't have to join their world," Cal said. "We can make our own. Invite in who we like."

"That's a nice idea," Rose said. "I worry about Louisa. I don't want her growing up the way we did, but I also want her to have friends. I don't want her thinking we deprived her of something."

"She won't think that. Will you, Little One?" He glanced down at the baby. She grinned and replied in nonsense sounds. "See?" he said. "And the two of you could never produce a child interested in social climbing."

The reference to Jack took her by surprise. Rose didn't know how to respond. She wanted to believe he was right. She told herself the pain she felt came from thinking of him. It was a lie. She'd been feeling it for several days and making up one excuse after another. So far, Cal hadn't noticed. She was good at hiding it. "What about our social responsibilities?" she said mockingly.

"What about them?"

Rose laughed. "You really do whatever you want, don't you?"

"Rose, I spent a long time doing all the right things, following the rules, meeting expectations," he said. "And it didn't help me at all. None of that was any help in France. It couldn't stop what happened or undo what I did and what I saw." Cal's eyes were heavy. He held Louisa closer. "It's all a lie," he said. "It can't protect us, and it won't make us happy."

"Cal," Rose said softly. She sat down next to him. He put his free arm around her, and she lay her head on his shoulder. "This is real," he said. "Us. This is what matters."

"They'll talk. They'll try to ruin your part of the business. It will get back to your family sooner or later."

"My family is here," Cal said.

…..

Jack told the whole story, leaving nothing out. Clark listened raptly, and although he was skeptical of certain parts, he mostly believed it. "I'll help," he promised.

That was the previous day. They found a room and had dinner, and then Clark went off in search of some people he knew. That left Jack alone. He spent the night staring at the ceiling, wishing for sleep. He was so close. She was there in the city. He could find her in the morning, if he was lucky. What would he say? Jack hadn't thought much about that. He figured the words would come, or they wouldn't be needed.

His mouth was dry. He closed his eyes. The craving was weak now, but he knew it would grow stronger. It wasn't just anticipation keeping him awake. "I won't do that," he said. "Not anymore. I'll never find Rose that way."

What if she didn't want to be found? What if she was happy now and didn't want him back? "No," he said, shaking his head. "Whatever's happened, she loves me. She came to my dreams."

Jack kept changing his mind about whether that was real. It depended on how much he needed it to be real at the time.

 _Just one. Just enough to go to sleep_. It was a seductive thought. He could already taste it; he felt the warmth enveloping him, like an embrace. He could stop at one. He'd done it before. Jack rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head.

….

Rose's heart raced. She stared into the darkness. Was the crash real, or had she dreamed it? She strained her ears against the silence. Cal's breathing was all she heard. She relaxed. Maybe it was just a dream. She settled against him again.

Rose bolted upright when she heard the footsteps. "Cal," she whispered, shaking him. "Wale, wake up."

"What is it?"

"There's someone in the house," she said.

"It's probably one of the servants."

"We don't have that many," Rose argued. "And why would they be up this late making noise?"

"Maybe-" Cal stopped. He heard the footsteps now too. They were getting closer; voices were attached, unfamiliar, male voices. "Go in Louisa's room," he said. "Now."

"But—"

"Rose, just go," he said.

"You can't go out there alone."

He was already out of bed, pulling on clothes. "Yes, I can," he said. "They're somewhere in this house. I'll wake Bert, and we'll handle this." He kissed Rose. "Lock the doors and phone the police."

"Cal—"

"Please, Rose, do what I'm asking," he said.

And he was gone, lost to the darkness. She locked the door and ran into the baby's room. Louisa slept peacefully, unaware anything was wrong. Rose locked the door to her room and paced next to the crib. At least the baby was safe.

The silence was ominous. She wished for some kind of sound, anything, to give some idea of what was happening. She twisted her hands together, as if that would make her heart stop racing. If she heard nothing, that meant Cal was alright. Unless it meant he'd been killed, quickly, in which case—Rose closed her eyes. "No," she said.

Her hands shook as she dialed the number, but her voice was steady. It only took a few minutes, and then she was assured someone was on the way. Rose could believe it too. "People like us always get help," she said grimly, setting down the phone.

….

There were two men. Cal and Bert surprised them on the back stairs. There was a great deal of banging and swearing, but in the end they were subdued. Bert stood guard until the police arrived.

"Rose, it's me."

Rose threw open the door. She was in his arms before the light came on. "It's alright," Cal said. "We took care of them."

She held him tightly. "I just knew something would happen to you. It was too quiet."

"Not on our end," he said. He spoke lightly, but the joke fell flat.

"You can't do things like that."

"I didn't do anything," he said. "I was barely hit. See? I'm fine, Rose."

"I don't want to lose you, Cal."

"You won't," he promised. "You know that."

"I kept thinking about what would happen if you-Where would we be without you?"

"You'd be fine," he said. "Everything would be fine, eventually. You wouldn't have anything to worry about."

"I'm not talking about money," Rose said. "Cal, I'm talking about you."

"I know. Don't worry about that." He kissed her. "Go back to bed, Rose. I'll deal with the police."

….

They came in through a kitchen window. They claimed their only intention was robbery, but Cal and the police were skeptical. They also said they believed the house was empty, and that story was believed. Why else risk breaking in like that? Rose didn't care what their motives or intentions were. She was just glad they had been caught quickly. She said this the next day, as she rocked the baby.

"I never expected something like this to happen," Cal said. "There's a wall around the house, after all." It was meant to keep intruders out while serving as decoration, a hint of an era that country had never seen, a time of castles and moats. The side gate hadn't been latched properly. That was how they'd gotten onto the grounds.

"What are you going to do?" Rose asked.

"I'll start with whoever didn't lock that gate."

"Don't overreact, Cal," she said.

The window was repaired, and new, heavy locks were put on all the gates and doors. It all happened quickly. A man was hired to keep watch during the day; another came at night.

"Isn't this just a bit excessive?" Rose said.

"It's temporary," Cal said.

"Is it?"

"Does it bother you?" he asked.

"I'm not sure we need so much security."

"I don't like taking risks. I certainly won't take them with my family," he said.

That was the only way Cal could react, Rose realized. Fear prompted aggressiveness. He eradicated threats. In a way, she was glad for it. You'd always be safe with him—safe from all external threats, that is. She steeled herself against the pain, pretending it wasn't getting worse. He couldn't do anything about that. If she told him he'd rail against nothing, and for what?

….

The sun burned Jack's eyes. He'd made it three days without drinking. When Clark returned, flushed with triumph and accompanied by friends who claimed to know where Cal lived, he let himself be taken for a celebratory beer. Why not? This was what he'd been waiting for. He'd have just one.

One became two, two became four, four became six, and when he woke up his head was fuzzy, and two days had passed him by. "I didn't know you had that in you," Clark said, concerned mixed with admiration in his voice.

"Neither did I," Jack said. "Don't let me do that again, alright?" It was said lightly, but he meant it. Slowly, Jack was beginning to see his own judgment wouldn't be enough. His will only held for so long.

Now he stood on the corner opposite the house. _Their_ house. His palms were damp. He ran across the street, heart pounding. Of course there was a wall surrounding the place. He should have known there would be. It was almost poetic, really. Jack hesitated at the front gate. Could he just go in? Knock on the door?

It didn't matter. It was locked. Was that, he wondered, to keep people out or to keep them in? But Cal didn't have to hold Rose that tightly anymore. Or did he? Jack hadn't thought so. Maybe things had changed.

The wall was easy to climb. Being numb to the scrapes on his hands and legs made it even easier. Jack dropped to the ground. As he made his way toward the house he heard her voice. "Rose," he whispered, quickening his pace.

Jack froze. There she was, just around the corner. Her back was to him. She was so close. All he had to do was walk to her.


	23. Chapter 23

It all happened at once. When he looked back on it later, Jack would see everything clearly, but at the time it was a blur. A voice called for Rose as he took a step forward; he shrank back, afraid of being seen by anyone else. This was their moment, alone. When he looked again she was gone. Undeterred, he made his way toward the back doors. He'd wait for her; she was bound to come back.

A heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him. Jack turned and found himself facing a tall, broad-shouldered man. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously. "How'd you get in here?"

"I—"

The man looked him over; his face was stony. Jack searched for a plausible story. Somehow, he doubted the truth would work. "C'mon," the man said, placing a meaty hand around Jack's arm. "You aren't supposed to be here."

Jack didn't think of himself as physically weak, but the months in a coma combined with weeks of excessive drinking made resistance difficult. He found himself being dragged along. "Wait!" he cried. "I need to be here."

"Yeah, sure," the man said dismissively.

"No, you don't understand. I'm-" Jack was shoved through a gate. It swung shut with a loud _clang_. "Please," he begged.

"I don't know what you're trying to do," the man said. "But just be glad I'm not calling the cops."

"If you'd let me explain—"

"I suggest you leave while you've got a chance," the man replied. "If the boss finds out I didn't hold you, it'll be my job."

"Why let me go then?" Jack asked.

"You look like you got problems." The man's expressions softened. "Just get outta here and don't come back."

Jack clutched the bars of the gate. He thought about climbing the wall again, as soon as the coast was clear. He could go back in, and this time, he'd go up to the door and demand to be let in. Or he could hide and wait for Rose to come outside again.

He stood there, watching the door, but it never opened. Myra saw him through the window and phoned the police. Rose had no idea. She was playing with Louisa in another room. By the time Myra told her about the "strange man watching the house" Jack had already been pushed along by two cops who refused to listen to a word he said.

"If you'd just let me knock on the door, the woman inside would—"

"We're not bothering her," one of them said. "They've already had one break-in."

"They have?" Jack said, concerned. "What happened? Was Rose there?"

"How do we know _you_ weren't there?"

"Maybe we should take him in," the second cop said.

"I didn't do anything," Jack protested.

"Maybe you did, and maybe you didn't."

The first cop's eyes narrowed. "You're a foreigner, aren't you?"

"What does that—" Jack began.

"Weren't the guys they arrested in this case foreign?"

"Coulda been," the second cop said. "And could be there was another man involved." He gave Jack a rough shake. "We see you around here again, and maybe there _will_ be another man involved. Got it?"

"Yeah," Jack said.

"Go on then," he said, shoving Jack.

…..

"I'm not saying I want to be part of that world again," Rose said. "I don't. It's the last thing I want, but I do want friends. I want more people to talk to. I had friends back in Los Angeles, remember?"

"I remember some awkward meetings with scruffy artist types," Cal said.

"You were just being shy.'

"Me, shy?" he said.

"You can understand why I need friends, can't you?" she said.

"Of course I understand, but do you really think you'll find anyone you care to spend time with among those women? From what you've told me they don't sound like you at all."

"Maybe not," Rose said. "But why not try? They may surprise me. From the outside, I never looked like the person I really was, not at first."

"I suppose that's true, but still. You actually want to go?"

"I want us to go out and be with other people," she said. "At this moment, your business associates and the best of Adelaide society, are all we have."

"Don't make it sound so tempting," Cal said.

"If I don't, we won't go."

"Are you sure you aren't just doing this for me?" he said. "I don't need you to. It's fine."

"It is for you, a little. I can't play Society Wife all the time, but I can give you the occasional evening. I want our marriage to be equal," she said. "That means we do things for one another. We compromise. And it's for me, too. I love Louisa so much, but I need to be with other adults sometimes, and not just you."

"I expected you to make friends with the staff. Push them into better lives. Champion their artistic natures."

"That wouldn't work," Rose said. "It's awkward when I ask Myra to call me Rose. There's a distance between us, and there's no way across it. We can never forget who and where we are. I'm always your wife, and if I choose, I can affect their lives, maybe irreparably. I have power, and they don't. To be honest, Cal, I don't like it."

"That doesn't surprise me," he said. 'I'd almost be disappointed if you felt any other way."

Rose shook her head. "Why did you marry me?"

"You have to ask?"

"With Jack, it was simple," she said. "The second time, at least. We were the same. We offered the same things to one another. But with you….Sometimes I wonder what I give you." She passed a hand over her face. "There's _this_ , of course, but-"

"If I only wanted that, I didn't have to spend all that time as your friend to get it," Cal said. "I don't need you at all."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better or worse?"

"Better," he said. "I didn't put it well, did I?"

"You always were direct," she said.

"Rose, I love you. You make me happy. You challenge me. You push me to be a better, braver, more interesting person. You let me be…well, _me_. I've told you things, shown you parts of myself I've never shared with anyone else," he said. "Never doubt what you offer me."

It was a perfect moment, except for the sharp pains in her middle. Rose laid her hand on the table to steady herself. "If I go to a few of these parties with you, will you come to a few of those, what did you call them? Bohemian gatherings with me?"

The corner of Cal's mouth turned up. "I believe I could manage that. Can I cover you in jewels before the party?"

"No."

"Why not?" he asked. "Most women are dying for such an opportunity."

"I'm not one of them," Rose said.

"Just one spectacular piece then?"

"Why the need to decorate and show me off?" she asked. "Are you using me to prove your manhood?"

"I don't know what analyst said that, but no, I'm not. I _want_ to give you things," he said. "and if we're going among those people, you should outshine them all."

"For myself or for you?"

"For both of us," Cal said. "Rose, sometimes you have to assert yourself. You have power. It isn't wrong to make that known. If you want friends, first you have to let them know they can't bully you."

"What an odd approach.'

"But it works," he said. "You remember." He put his hands on hers. "They can't touch me, but I don't want them trying to hurt you."

It was ironic. Her own body was hurting her more than anything else possibly could.

…..

Jack gripped the glass with both hands. It was smooth and cold. He breathed in the spicy scent of the beer. He hadn't drunk any yet. He'd been sitting there for nearly an hour. He wasn't sure how he got there. After the cops made him leave he just started walking. He'd intended to go back once he was sure they were gone, but instead he ended up in the bar.

Drinking that beer wouldn't bring him any closer to Rose. But it _would_ blot out the way he felt. It would make everything nice and blurry for a while, prop him up in its arms until he figure out what to do next.

Jack took a long swallow. He felt better already.

…..

Where was he? Did it matter? He was surrounded by friends. Drinks were placed in front of him, almost before he finished the last one. He didn't even have to ask. Jack didn't think about whether or not to drink them. He just turned up each glass and emptied it.

He felt good. He felt wonderful, actually. All those concerns weighing down his shoulders were gone. Jack felt like he could float away. This was probably the closest he'd ever come to flying. Flying. That conjured images of rose.

For just a moment the haze cleared, and he was able to focus. He was supposed to be finding Rose, not drinking himself into a stupor. So he failed once. Did that mean he was going to just give up? He failed on the ship. Or had he forgotten being taken out of First Class by those stewards? He hadn't give up then.

"Tomorrow," he said. "I'll go back." Meanwhile, he couldn't waste this full glass, not when someone else was paying for it. Jack was only being polite. He didn't _need_ that drink.

….

Rose made it another couple of days, but by the morning of the third, even she was forced to admit the pain was unbearable. She couldn't sleep. She could hardly move. Cal kept giving her looks, as though he suspected something was wrong. If he didn't, he soon would.

She slipped out of bed early, while he was still asleep, and hurried downstairs. It didn't take long to phone Claire's office. To her relief, there was an open spot that day. The only problem was whether or not to tell Cal. He would find out eventually, of course, but if he knew beforehand he'd insist on coming with her. Rose wasn't sure she wanted that. She had a fairly good idea of what was coming, and she expected a decision would have to be made. It was one she still didn't know how to make.

…..

Everything hurt. Even his breathing was too loud. Jack forced himself to finish the entire glass of water before laying his head on the table. "What happened to not letting me do that again?" he asked groggily.

"You were unstoppable," Clark said. "By the time I found you it was over. I couldn't get you to sober up for anything. What happened?"

"I don't really remember. It's all a blur."

"I meant, what happened to get you drinking again?" Clark said. "I thought you were going to see your wife?"

"I was. I did."

"Well?" Clark prompted. "Something made you drink for two days."

"Two days?" Jack said. "What…." Had it really been that long? He tried to remember, but all he got were fragmented images. "I didn't get to talk to her," he said slowly. "The place had guards. Can you believe that?" He shook his head and immediately regretted it. "I was so close."

"And that's why you went on a binge?"

"I don't really know why," Jack said. "I just, I ended up in the bar and ordered a beer. It was automatic. I thought I'd wait and then go back when things calmed down at the house."

"But you didn't."

'I know what you're gonna say, and it's not true," Jack said. "I have this under control. I know what I'm doing."

"When are you going back?" Clark asked.

"As soon as I pull myself together."

"Well, you might be interested in this," Clark said. He unfolded the newspaper to an article on the society page. "That's him, isn't it?"

It was only a single paragraph, listing the guests attending a party being held that night. Cal was among them. Jack's stomach clenched when he read "Wife." He closed his eyes, partly against the light, but mostly to avoid seeing it anymore. "He couldn'tve married her," he said. "Why would she do that?"

"Like you said, you were dead."

"Even so," Jack said.

"Why don't you try again at the party?" Clark suggested. "It's tonight. Same neighborhood. It can't be that hard to get in."

"That's an idea."

….

Cal held Louisa, rocking her gently. "She woke up," he said, noticing Rose in the doorway. "I think she's alright now. I changed her. She might be hungry."

"That's something I never expected to hear you say."

"Which part?" he asked.

"All of it," Rose said.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked. "You were up before everyone."

"Oh, I-" It was on the tip of her tongue to lie. It would be easy. But then again, how much easier would it be to simply tell the truth and ask for help? "I made an appointment to see Claire today," she said. "I haven't been feeling well.'

"I didn't think you had. Is it the—the old trouble?"

"Probably," she said. "It feels the same. I've been in quite a bit of pain lately. I tried to hide it."

"Why?" he said.

"So you wouldn't know."

"No, Rose, why do you insist on hiding things like that?" Cal said. "You did this before. No-one can help you if you don't let them."

"I don't like asking for help. We have that in common."

"I'm still going to help you," he said. "You aren't going alone."

"I'd rather be alone," she said. "If you don't mind."

"Why?" he said.

"It's something I think I need to be alone for," Rose explained. "I'm sorry."

"I'll stay home and watch the baby then."

"Cal, you don't have to do that. We have Alice. At _your_ insistence, I might add," she said.

"She's accustomed to you being here. I'll be the next best thing, and besides, I'd like to be here when you get home," he said. "In case you need me. Not that you'll admit it."

"I do need you," Rose said. "Maybe not with me every second, but I need you. I need to know you'll be there when I come home and not just today."

"Of course I will be."

…..

Claire's office was close enough Rose could have walked or taken a bus, but Cal wouldn't hear of it. He insisted she be driven. Rose gave in without much of an argument. It was a small thing, really, and it made him feel better.

She tried not to be anxious as she waited for Claire, but her hands kept folding and unfolding. Finally, Claire came in. "Rose, how are you?" she said.

"I've been better, to be honest."

"I expected to hear from you much sooner," Claire said. "Or at least, I hoped to."

"I was fine at first, but the problem has been coming back," Rose said. "I can't live with it anymore."

"I'm sorry you've been trying to handling it on your own, but I am glad you're admitting there's a problem."

"What can you do about it?" Rose asked.

"Well, first I have to try and determine how bad things are. Don't be nervous."

How could she not be? The course of her life hung in the balance. Rose feared things had gotten even worse than she imagined. There was nothing anyone could do; it was slowly killing her, and it was all her fault for being so stubborn. Or it was a punishment for letting go of Jack so easily. Never mind that she hadn't; never mind what a struggle it had been to simply keep living.

"From what I can tell you will definitely need an operation to remove those cysts," Claire said. "And Rose, we discussed this before. This will keep happening over and over again, unless you do something about it."

"I remember," Rose said. "I've been thinking about it. It's almost all I can think about."

"Did you come to a decision?"

"I want more children," Rose said. "I can't tell you how badly I want them, but I can't torture myself hoping for it."

"So, that means-"

"Yes," Rose said. "Do you what you have to do in order to deal with the problem."

Claire put a hand on Rose's shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know this wasn't an easy choice to make."

"No, it wasn't." Rose let out a breath. "But it's the best choice for everyone."

…

The operation was scheduled for the following week. Claire gave Rose something for the pain in the meantime. As she stumbled out of the office, Rose was glad Bernard was waiting with the car. This time Cal was right. Bernard took hold of her hands and helped her into the car. "Alright, ma'am?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Thank you."

Rose leaned back, and her eyes fell shut. She didn't know she was asleep until the car stopped in front of the house, and she woke up. Bernard looked at her with concern. "Are you quite sure you're alright, ma'am?"

"I'm sure." Her words slurred. She leaned on him as they walked inside. "Thank you," she said. She swayed when he let go. "I can manage," she insisted.

"Rose, is that you?" Cal appeared at the top of the stairs. "Rose!"

"Cal." She took an uncertain step. Bernard caught her.

"Thank you," Cal said. "I'm very appreciative." He swept Rose up into his arms.

"Of course, sir." He needn't have bothered. Cal didn't hear him. His attention was fixed on Rose.

"What happened?" he asked, carrying her up the stairs. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she murmured. "Really. Claire gave me something for the pain. I didn't know it was this strong."

Cal lay her down on the bed. "Why didn't you tell me you were in so much pain?" he asked. He removed her shoes and dress. She was all bur asleep as he pulled the blanket over her. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed his fingers through her curls. "My Rose," he said softly. "My poor, sweet Rose."

….

Jack opened his eyes and found himself lying in the sun. Wildflowers filled the world. Rose lay next to him, asleep. He touched her face. She was solid and warm.

"Jack?" she said, rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah, it's me."

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "Where are we?"

"I don't know." He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I don't really care. We're together again."

"Am I supposed to be here?"

"What do you mean?" he said.

"It's just….Jack, are you angry with me?"

"No, Rose," he said. "I miss you."

Rose covered his hand with hers. "I miss you too, Jack."

They both slept in the same city, miles apart, neither guessing how close they were in that moment.

 **AN: Thanks for reading everyone! This story may be coming to an end. I've been of two minds about it, and one version goes on for a little while, but it's starting to feel like it's been told. The next chapter won't be the last, but it will likely be one of the last.**


	24. Chapter 24

Rose lay still for a moment. The room was dim. The curtains were drawn, and she wasn't sure how much time had passed. It was obvious she was awake. The dream had been so vivid, though. She could have sworn Jack was right there with her. She felt him. Smelled his hair. Everything was exactly as she remembered, only stronger. He wasn't fading in the dream. She didn't have to hold his image with both hands to keep from losing it. The first time she only clearly remembered him in certain moments. Waiting at the bottom of the staircase. At the bow. The way his face looked when he drew her. It was enough to keep those days alive in her mind but only just. Now, everything came rushing back.

She heard Louisa crying in the next room. "Real life," she said, climbing out of bed. "Not dreams."

Cal was already there when he arrived. He held the baby. "It's alright, Little One," he said soothingly. "Are you hungry?"

"I can take her," Rose offered.

"You're awake," Cal said with a relieved smile. "How do you feel?"

"Better. Thank you."

"I'll feed her," he said, picking up a bottle from the table. He sat down in the rocking chair. Louisa settled in his lap, drinking happily.

"I can't get over that sight," Rose said.

"I like taking care of her. There's purpose to it. She makes me feel better than all the money I've made, better than anything I've accomplished. She doesn't care who I am," he said. "All of that's meaningless to her. It puts things in perspective, you know?"

"I know."

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For sharing her with me," he said.

Rose kissed his hair. "Is it too late for us to go to the party?" she asked.

"You still want to go?"

She nodded. "If you do."

"Are you sure you feel up to it?"

"I'm sure," she said. She was still a little light-headed, but the pain was nearly gone. Some food would get her back to normal, and there was bound to be good at the party. She could eat then. "I just need a little time to get ready."

"Don't rush," Cal said. "It doesn't start until eight, and if we get there too early it will look like we're trying too hard."

"How could I forget?" Rose said. "Fashionably late or nothing."

"I don't make the rules."

"In this case, they help," she said. "So, I won't point out how absurd they are." She kissed Louisa. "Be good, darling.'

"We're fine, aren't we, Little One?" he said.

….

The closer they got, the harder it was for Jack to contain his energy. He tapped his fingers on his leg and stared out the window, wondering which house they'd stop at. Clark drove. He borrowed the car from a cousin. They didn't tell her what it was for; they just promised to bring it back in the morning. Finally, they came to a stop in front of an opulent three-story house with a wrought-iron fence surrounding it. The windows blazed with light. Cars filled the long, circular driveway, and more poured out into the street. Well-dressed people make their way to the front door.

"This is the place," Clark said.

Jack could only stare. It was more like a small palace than a house. It was the sort of place he expected to see Cal. The house they shared was downright plain next to this one. That, he decided, was probably Rose's doing. She might be living with Cal-Jack refused to use the word married-but there was no way she'd gone back to his world. So then why was she here? To please him, most likely. She was always going out of her way for him. Like that dinner with his family. What reason was there for her to go? She wasn't his wife; he should have been able to handle them on his own. Even though it had nothing to do with Cal, Jack couldn't help blaming him for her collapse that night.

"You going in?" Clark asked.

"Yeah," Jack said. "Just figuring out how."

"Let's try around back. We definitely can't walk in the front door. We'll stick out like sore thumbs. Or poor thumbs." Clark laughed. Jack managed a weak smile. There was silence as they drove around to the back and parked.

Light spilled from the patio doors. The fence was replaced by a low brick wall. "I'll stay with the car," Clark said. "Yell if you need anything."

Jack hopped over the wall easily. The gate was locked from the inside with a heavy padlock. He remembered what the cops said about break-ins. Were people in this part of town suddenly on high alert? He looked around but saw no sign of a guard. He let out a breath. So far, so good.

Jack moved toward the house, staying in the shadows as best he could. He crouched in the bushed and peered through a window. The party was in full swing. He scanned the crowd for Rose but didn't find her. Where was she? Had they decided not to come after all?

…

"Oh." Cal could only stare at her. Rose wore a velvet and lace dress of white and periwinkle. Her curls were swept back and held with silver combs. "Rose, you're stunning.'

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes," he said. He held out his hand. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world."

"I don't know about that," she said. "But I certainly look better than I expected. I guess a good nap can do that. Not being in blinding pain also helps."

"You aren't in pain anymore?"

"No," Rose said. "I feel rather good, actually." She had taken another pill as a precaution, but there didn't seem to be any adverse effects. The light-headed feeling hadn't gotten any worse. She had a burst of energy and a general _good_ feeling. She resolved to eat the first chance she got.

"I'm glad to hear that," Cal said. His tone didn't betray the concern he felt, but his eyes did.

Rose smiled. "I'm surprised you didn't meet me with some extravagant piece of jewelry."

"I thought about it," he said. "But you don't want that, so I resisted the urge."

"I can hardly believe it. Who are you?"

"It isn't that hard to believe," he said.

"Maybe not." She smiled. "Shall we go?"

…

Jack saw her as soon as she entered the room. He pressed his nose to the glass, forgetting he could be seen. She was all he cared about. She was more beautiful than he remembered. In her evening dress she looked like the girl he met all those years ago. Her arm was linked with Cal's. It was like going back in time. Here he was, on the outside, and there she was, inside, with him.

Jack watched them move around the room. She didn't look uncomfortable, though maybe it was an act. She'd been so good at that sort of thing in the past. He didn't know how long he crouched there before Rose took a breath and closed her eyes. Jack stood up, alert.

"Are you alright?" Cal asked.

"Yes. I'm fine. I'm just feeling a little dizzy," Rose said. She'd eaten several hor d'oeuvres, but it didn't seem to be helping.

"Is it—"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I think I need some air."

"I'll go with you," Cal offered.

"No. You stay here. I'll be alright."

"Rose, it's freezing outside."

"It's not that cold," Rose said. She pressed his hand. "Enjoy the party. I'll be back in a minute."

Jack moved with her. He stood just around the corner as she came outside. He held his breathe. He heard her heels clicking on the stone terrace. This had to be done right. He couldn't frighten her. The lights were off in the back. Only the moon kept it from being completely dark.

Rose stood on the lawn, head in her hands. The world spun. It was like being trapped on a carousel. Her stomach lurched, and she feared what little food she'd eaten was making its way back up. Rose clenched her jaw, forcing it back down. A cold sweat covered her skin. Was it a reaction to the medication, or was this simply a side effect? She wondered if she'd taken too much, though surely one extra pill couldn't cause these kinds of problems. There was no way it could be fatal.

"Rose."

Jack spoke more softly than he intended. He stood just around the corner. There was at least twelve feet between them. Rose turned. A puzzled look filled her eyes. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

He seemed to glow. She shivered, and the world tilted as it spun. Rose blinked, expecting him to vanish. He didn't. "Rose," he said again, moving toward her. He held out his hands. He grinned, a mix of relief and nervousness. "It's me."

"No. No, it's can't be," she said. She closed her eyes, the sick feeling overtaking her. "You…." She crumpled to the ground. Jack ran to her. "Rose, it's alright," he said, lifting her up into his arms. She was unresponsive. Her skin was clammy. "Rose?" He gave her a gentle shake.

"Hey, you!"

Over his shoulder Jack saw two men approaching. "What are you doing?" Their expressions changed when they saw Rose. "You don't belong here," the taller one said accusingly. "Do you?

"She needs help," Jack said. "I don't know what's wrong."

"How about you move away from her."

"I didn't hurt her," Jack said. "I don't know what happened."

"Yeah, sure," the shorter man said. He held a club in one hand. A gun hung from his belt. Jack glanced at it. "You'd best do what we ask," he added.

"Fine. Alright." Jack carefully lay Rose on the grass. He kissed his fingers and touched her lips.

"None of that."

Jack was jerked to his feet. "Who cares about me?" he protested. "Help her!"

"We'll give the orders."

Jack heard the click and realized he was about to be handcuffed. It was only a split second, but it was long enough to deice he had to get away. If they turned him over to the police, he'd never find Rose again. She might not remember seeing him, and if Cal found out he was there, he could be certain he'd be kept away.

Jack twisted his arm free and burst into a run.

"Hey! Stop!"

Blood pounded in his ears; he heard the heavy footsteps behind him. "Rose!" he yelled, hoping she would wake up. He risked a look over his shoulder. She was stirring. "Rose! It's me!"

Jack couldn't stop. He was at the wall now. He leapt over it, tearing his pants and scraping his leg. He was running as soon as he landed. He reached the car seconds later, out of breath. Clark didn't have to ask what happened. He peeled out, pedal on the floor. There were lights everywhere now and sirens in the distance.

….

"Rose?" Cal veered through the crowd that had gathered outside. "Rose? Excuse me, that's my wife!" he cried, shoving past one of the guards. He dropped to his knees. Her eyes were half-open. "What happened?" he asked.

"I…I don't know," she said. She tried to sit up.

"Don't," Cal said, putting his arm around her. "Don't try to move, Rose. It'll be alright.'

"There was an intruder back here," the guard explained. "We caught him standing over her."

Cal's dark eyes flashed. "What?" he hissed.

At that moment, the other guard appeared, panting. "I lost him," he said. "He made it over the wall and into a car. He must've had it waiting."

"You can't be serious," Cal said, his voice cold with fury. "How could something like this happen?" He was nearly yelling, oblivious to the crowd. "How could you let-"

"Cal." Rose tugged on his sleeve. "Cal, don't," she pleaded. "I'm fine. Nothing happened."

"Nothing-Nothing happened?" Cal said incredulously.

"I fainted, but I don't think the man had anything to do with it," she explained. "He didn't hurt me. He…" What was there to say? He looked like Jack? For a second she thought he _was_ Jack? That was impossible. Any resemblance to Jack was a trick of the light and her weakened state. As for hearing her name,, that was just her imagination. "He didn't even touch me," she said.

….

The police arrived, and Rose was taken home. Cal refused to let them speak to her. The doctor was called, and she determined Rose had suffered a mild reaction to the medication. A new type was prescribed. In the following days descriptions of Jack were circulated, all of which were incorrect, and the story made several local papers. Jack read them. In one he was called an "attacker", in another a "public menace."

He crumpled the paper in his fist and ordered another drink. Suddenly, staying sober didn't seem so important. Getting within ten feet of the house was impossible now, and when he wasn't drinking, Jack didn't care about anything anymore. His whole life had crumbled around him, and the worst past was he never had a clue it was happening. Rose thought he was dead. When he was sober, he felt like he was. Giving up had never been his way; he'd always found a way to keep going, no matter what. Until now. Maybe it was just too much loss after so much hope.

Cal barely let Rose and Louisa out of his sight. He was convinced someone was planning to abduct them or worse. Rose tried to reason with him, but he wouldn't hear of it. He believed the men who broke into the house were connected to the one Myra saw, and that he was the one at the party. Security around the house was increased.

"We don't need this," Rose argued.

"What if something happens to you?" Cal said. "I can't ignore what's going on. I won't fail to protect my family."

It was hard to argue with his intentions.

He went with her to the hospital on the morning of the surgery. He sat next to her bed and held her hand. "I'll be here when it's over," he promised.

"I shouldn't be afraid," Rose said.

"No, you shouldn't be. It won't be long, and you'll be back out here, good as new. Better, even."

"Cal, if something goes wrong-"

"It won't," he said firmly.

"But if it does-"

"Rose-"

"Please," she said. "I don't want to think about it either, but if something goes wrong, promise me you'll take care of Louisa."

"Of course I will," Cal said. "You know that."

"The way I would. Don't let her be brought up the way we were. Remember? It's going to be different for her."

"It will be," he said. "I promise. But it doesn't matter because you're going to be fine. Rose, you have to believe that." He kissed her. "We need you. We'll be waiting for you."

…..

They told her to count. She was warm and light. Rose felt like she was floating away, and then she was sinking down, down into sleep. It was like falling through water, deeper and darker than any normal sleep. She recognized this feeling. It was almost comforting.

…

He was in the flowers again. Jack looked around. He hadn't had this dream in almost a week, but it felt like much longer. Time had begun to lose meaning. He watched Rose appear next to him.

"Jack." She stared at him. "You're always here."

"So are you," he said.

Their hands inched closer in the grass. Their fingers met, and there was a spark only they could feel. "I'm afraid," Rose said.

"Don't be. Not with me."

"I wish you were really here," she said.

"I am, Rose. Feel my hand. It's real."

"For now, maybe," she said.

"But…." he said.

It was a dream for both of them, and yet, it was real enough to bring them together again. They wanted to believe it was more than a dream, but they didn't let themselves. Rose feared a return to her former state, whole Jack assumed it was the effects of the coma combined with excessive drinking. He wasn't sure he could trust his mind at all anymore.

"Can I stay here?" Rose asked.

"You can stay as long as you want, Petal."

"I'd be happy just looking at you," she said.

"So would I," Jack said.

…..

True to his word, Cal was there when she woke up. Rose couldn't remember the dream at first, just the strong sense of peace that came with it.

"You're going to be fine," Cal said.

"Am I?"

He nodded. "Exactly like I said."

"How's Louisa?"

"Happy as a lark when I left," he said.

"I hope she doesn't sense something's wrong," Rose said.

"I'll be with her tonight. She won't be alone."

"Did they say when I can go home?" she asked.

"Not for a few days," Cal replied. "It went very well, but you shouldn't be moving around yet."

"I can't wait that long. She'll know I'm gone."

"Rose, you have to take care of yourself," he said. "For her, for yourself. For me. You can't even hold her right now. I know it's hard, but you'll be home soon." He kissed her hand. "I want you back too. I'll stay with her."

"You've been so good to me," she said.

"I love you."

"I love you too," Rose said.

It wasn't a lie, but as the memory of her dreams returned, she would have to face another truth. She still loved Jack and not just as a memory.

…

He didn't want to be awake. Drunk or asleep. Those were the only options. Those were the only times he didn't feel the gaping hole in his heart. When Jack first woke up in the hospital it was easy to think about the future, to make plans. He had no doubt he would find rose. In his fantasy, she ran into his arms, overjoyed, and all was forgotten.

But it wouldn't be like that. She had a whole other life now. With Cal. He'd gotten what he wanted. As far as anyone knew Rose was his wife. Jack took another drink, hoping to blot out the image of Rose on his arm. Thinking about it led to other things, other images of the two of them together. He couldn't bear the idea of Cal touching her. It wasn't possible; he couldn't have.

But they were married, and Jack had been officially dead for over a year.

"Why would she marry him?"

That Cal had taken advantage of her grief was the only explanation Jack could find. He'd always doubted the depth of their friendship, having not been there for its development. It never occurred to him Rose might find some kind of comfort in Cal, or that she did love him, though perhaps not quite in the way she loved Jack. Louisa's existence was a possibility he never imagined.

Jack drained the glass. Tonight, if he was lucky, she would be there when he slept.

 **AN: This story only has one more chapter to go, and it's coming quickly.**


	25. Chapter 25

In the past, he had dreams like this. The two of them together, her sleeping in his arms. Making love. Her skin like white silk in his hands, her body so warm and soft. He knew where to touch her, knew what each sound in her throat meant. He loved her. He couldn't love her any more than he already did. She had everything of his, everything in him. The two of them together were perfect. The dreams didn't prepare him for the reality. He wished for her for so long he still couldn't quite believe he had her.

Rose snuggled close to him, pressing her face against his chest. Cal's arms encircled her. She seemed to curve into him. He thought they fit together like puzzle pieces. "I love you," he whispered. Rose didn't answer; she was already asleep.

….

The next morning at breakfast, Rose announced, "We should throw our own party."

Cal gave her a surprised look. "You want to do that?"

"I think we should. It might make up for all the invitations we've turned down."

"You've been recovering," he pointed out. "We can't be expected to socialize. People know that."

"Even so. You want us to be part of things here."

"Not at the expense of your health," Cal said.

"I appreciate that," Rose said, with a smile. "But I'm fine. It's been over a month. I'm completely healed." Her smile turned coy. "You should know that."

His mouth turned up. "Even so," he said. "That's different."

"Is it?"

"I don't want you doing anything you don't want to."

"I'm not," she said. "I think it would be a nice gesture. You can show off the house. I won't worry about the baby because we'll be here. At least consider it, Cal."

"Alright. Let's talk about it tonight."

"Will you be home for dinner?" she asked.

"Before dinner, if I can manage it."

Rose smiled again. "Good."

…

She walked him to the door. "Have a good day," she said encouragingly.

"You're at the end of it," Cal replied. "How could I not?" He put a hand on her waist and kissed her. He lingered a moment, looking down at her. "Don't overtax yourself today, Rose," he said. "Please?"

"I won't. Stop worrying."

"I'm concerned," he said. "That's all. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."

"I'm _fine_. You have nothing to worry about," Rose said. "I'm glad you care," she added, kissing him again. "Now, get going so you can come back."

He laughed as he went out the door. The car was waiting. As it pulled away, Cal wished he didn't have to leave. What was the point of his going to work every day? They had more than enough money. When his father died his millions would join what Cal already had. How much did they really need? Rose would say they had enough; she'd probably say they could do with a great deal less, but Cal wasn't so sure about _that_. He saw no need to give up money they already had.

Her life had been hard at first, but she was a strong-willed, determined woman, not to mention lucky, and things weren't nearly as bad as they could've been. Cal suspected Rose didn't quite realized how soothing security could be. He wasn't a gambler; he didn't enjoy taking unnecessary risks. Why endanger things when there were so many other ways to get ahead? Secretly, he was a little in awe of Rose's ability to leave her entire future up to change. Since Louisa's birth, though, she wasn't as keen on it as she'd once been. Actually, if he was honest, he'd say it went back further, to Jack's death.

Time was so fleeting. There was no way to be sure _he_ wouldn't drop dead suddenly. The thought filled Cal with anxiety. Where would Rose and Louisa be then? Oh, they'd be alright financially, but who would take care of them? Who would help raise the baby? Who would make Rose laugh? Who would hold her at night?

The car stopped in front of his office, and Cal realized he'd made a decision. It wasn't one he ever expected to make, but he knew it was right.

…..

Jack splashed cold water on his face. His mouth tasted like cotton. There was a dull ache in the back of his head. He barely remembered the previous day. The blurred image of a woman passed through his mind. Red hair. Not Rose. Not even close. He remembered her sitting on his lap. Kissing her, his hand resting on her thigh. She was pretty. In another time, maybe, he would've liked her, but all he cared about now was the memories she conjured.

He dreamed about them. Dancing together. Laughing. He saw Cal kissing Rose, his hands on her. She kissed him back, eager for his touch. Jack never knew nightmares could look like that.

He'd gone to the house once more, stopping across the street. It was as close as he dared get. He could see the guards from there. The gates would surely be locked as well as the doors. Rose was inside, somewhere, but there was no way to tell her to come out. He hoped she might spot him from a window, but she didn't.

Jack bought a bottle of whiskey and drank it as he walked home. By now, his body craved the alcohol nearly as much as his mind. If he tried to go without drinking his hands trembled. He couldn't sleep. His stomach hurt. He hadn't drawn in weeks. His supplies lay under a fine layer of dust. Clark helped him find odd jobs, which he did half-heartedly, not caring if he made much money, just as long as it was enough to pay for his room and drinks. His savings was nearly gone. He'd considered going back to America but dismissed the idea. At least he was close to Rose, and what would he do if he went back? There for nothing for him there.

Jack lay back down, his stomach in knots. He needed to eat but couldn't face the thought of food. He closed his eyes and pictured Rose, the last time he saw her. She was worried, and he was confident everything would be fine. How stupid could he be?

…..

Cal made the announcement at the morning meeting. He stood at the head of the table, watching the shock travel through the other men. They wouldn't understand. How could they? Most of them were nouveau riche. They adored their new status. They weren't entirely secure within it, and they lived in constant terror of losing it. They equated his decision with a form of suicide.

George stared at him. "But why?" he asked. "You've breathed new life into this company."

"I'm not leaving completely," Cal said. "I'll still retain my interest and keep an eye on things, but my family has to come first now."

There was more head shaking and more questions. No-one understood or agreed with his decision, but Cal didn't care. He was more than accustomed to doing what he liked, after all.

…..

Rose would say it was extravagant, but Cal knew it was meant for her as soon as he saw it in the store window. It was a small aquamarine pendant on a silver chain. The color was perfect. He imagined it against her skin. It would set off her hair nicely. Cal bought a strand of pearls as well.

…..

They were in the playroom when he arrived home. "Cal," Rose said, surprised by happy. "I didn't expect you this early. Lunch is barely over."

"I didn't see any reason to stay there another minute," he said. Louisa crawled toward him. She tried to pull herself up. "Da," she said, her chubby hands clutching the hem of his pants. Cal grinned. "Hello, Little One," he said, scooping her up. She put her hand on his face. "Da," she said again.

"Is she speaking Russian?" he asked.

Rose laughed. "No. She's just trying to talk." She touched Louisa's arm, getting her attention. "Mama," she said slowly, drawing out each letter.

"Ma," Louisa said.

"See?" Rose said.

"That's amazing," Cal said. "I didn't know she could do that yet."

"She hasn't been doing it long."

"Still, I should've known," he said. He kissed Louisa. "You're a smart girl, aren't you?"

"She is," Rose said proudly. "How did you manage to get home so early?"

"That's part of my surprise."

"There's a surprise?" she said.

"Oh yes." Cal shifted Louisa to the other side and reached into his pocket. "I hope you don't think this is too much," he said, opening the box.

"It's beautiful," Rose said. "But Cal, you shouldn't have."

"I knew you'd say that, but I also knew you had to have it. I didn't plan this. I saw it in a window as I was walking by," he explained.

"Do I want to know what it cost?"

He chuckled. "Probably not." He reached into his other pocket. "I also got these."

"Pearls? Why?"

"For Louisa," he said. "Every girl needs at least one strand."

"She'll put them in her mouth if you give them to her now," Rose said. "Don't you think it's a bit early for jewelry?"

"I wasn't going to give them to her yet. It's never too early to start thinking about the future," Cal replied. "I've already set aside the money for her education, and there's her trust fund."

"You've done all that? When?"

He shrugged. "A couple months ago. I'd be irresponsible if I didn't."

"I wish my father had felt that way."

"I thought about that," he said. "His negligence brought you to me the first time, but it wasn't right. You saw it; I didn't. We could never be together under those circumstances. That's why I created a trust for you as well."

"Cal, I don't need-"

"Yes, Rose, you do," he said. "You were right to want your own money. I consider everything I have yours, but this is legally yours. No-one else can touch it. If something happens, if I should somehow lose everything, the two of you will still be well provided for. Any creditors I have can't put a claim on it."

"What brought this on?" Rose asked. "You know you'll live to be a hundred. You're one of the healthiest men I've ever met. What's there to worry about?" She said it lightly, so as not to betray the whirl of feelings within her.

"I can't control everything," Cal said. "I know that, much to well." His dark eyes turned somber. "And life is so fleeting."

"Yes, it is," she agreed."

"That's why I'm stepping away from work for a while. I informed the board this morning. I'd rather be here with you. Every minute I spend away is a waste of time."

Rose moved closer. He wrapped his free arm around her, and she lay her head on his shoulder. "Cal."

He kissed the top of her head. "Yes, Rose?"

"Just you," she said. "I love you for this."

…

If we throw a party now it'll be a retirement party," Cal argued. "That's basically what I've done."

"You'll go back eventually," Rose said. "You love working."

"I did. I probably still do, but I've been thinking there may be other things I can do, things I might love just as much."

"Like what?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," he said. "I was always groomed to take over. Any outside interests I had were kept casual. I never developed them."

"Is there something you always wanted to do?"

"Rule the world?" He laughed.

"Well, you've already done that," Rose said. "Anything else?"

"I don't know."

She patted his hand. "You'll figure something out. In the meantime, you can help me with things, like planning this party."

"Maybe that will be my new calling," he joked.

"You do have a good eye for detail."

"We should take a photograph," he said. "There aren't any of the three of us. Actually, there aren't any of the two of us either, not recent ones."

"That's a wonderful idea. We need something to remember this time, especially Louisa. Soon she won't be a baby anymore." In the back of her mind Rose couldn't help thinking of Jack. If he were there every moment would already be well-documented. He would've drawn them both from the start. But Cal couldn't do that, and it wasn't a fair comparison to make.

He smiled. "I'll make the arrangements."

….

The days flew by. Rose busied herself with the party and running the house, to which Cal contributed greatly. He had a real knack for it, though he refused to admit it. It seemed like they were always together, and the baby was there more often than not. Every time she reached for him, every cry of "Da", made his heart melt. Cal never would have predicted a child would affect him so strongly. He'd always been ambivalent about children. They were necessary, of course, but he was quite comfortable keeping them at a distance.

Rose wore the aquamarine pendant in the photos. She wore it all the time. It glittered from her neck, the only jewelry, other than her wedding rings, she ever wore. There were two photos of them with Louisa, and three of Cal and Rose alone together. He had trouble focusing on the camera. In one shot, which Cal insisted be developed, Rose's head was titled up, and they were gazing into each other's eyes, his hand in hers. That was his favorite.

…

The days flew by for Jack as well, mostly because he barely remembered. It didn't matter. They were all pretty much the same. Sometimes he woke up with vague recollections of girls, all with red hair. For all he knew, it was the same one each time. Either way, it wasn't Rose; he could be sure of that. It was wrong, what he was doing; he knew that too. Whoever these women were they didn't deserve this, and neither did Rose.

She deserved better than him. Jack didn't know if that meant she belonged with Cal. He was inclined against that idea. Maybe she deserved to be free of both of them.

…..

The fight took him by surprise. Jack felt the argument brewing, the heated words over nothing, tempers inflamed by Jameson and Guinness, but he was still blindsided by the first punch. He reeled back, recovering quickly, his own fist raised now. They struggled clumsily, knocking over tables and breaking glasses. When they were finally thrown out. Jack's lip was bleeding, along with his nose, and he had a bruised cheek. He shrugged off any attempt to help and walked away, head down, occasionally spitting out blood, until finally, he stopped in front of the house.

Jack clutched the gate with both hands. The metal was cold as ice. He stared up at the windows, wondering which of them Rose was behind.

….

Cal was in his study when the call came. "Yes?" he said, his eyes still on the papers spread across the desk.

"Mr. Hockley?"

"Yes."

"Sir, are you aware a vagrant was picked up outside your house this afternoon?"

Cal raised his head, alert now. "I most certainly was not," he said. "What happened?"

"It was handled as discreetly as possible under the circumstances. He was drunk and disorderly. We wondered if you might come down and see if you or your wife recognize him. We know she was involved in a previous incident at-"

"Yes," Cal said quickly. "I'm not sure how much help we'll be, but we'll be right there."

Cal hung up the phone. He couldn't believe it. Was it possibly the same man from the party? Why had he come back? What did he want? If anyone could identify him, it was Rose, but Cal didn't tell her. He saw no reason to expose her unnecessarily. He'd go down and find out what he could first.

…

"Right this way sir," Lieutenant Thompson said, leading Cal down a narrow hallway. "He was talking at first, but now he won't say anything."

"What was he saying?"

"Babble, mostly," Thompson replied. "Something about his wife. Like I told you, he'd been drinking."

Cal stepped into a small, dim room. As his eyes adjusted, he realized the figure slumped in the chair was Jack. His heart skipped a beat. Jack's blue eyes were hard; he smiled bitterly. "I shoulda known this would happen," Jack said.

"You—You were dead," Cal stammered. He stepped closer, still not believing his eyes. "You _are_ dead."

"For a while I was," Jack agreed. "In a way."

"They never found you."

"They did. They just didn't know who I was," Jack said. "No-one ever came asking about me. Guess it was more convenient for you that way."

"If you're implying I had something to do with that-"

"Didn't you?" Jack said. "You probably couldn't believe such a perfect chance landed in your lap. All you had to do was convince Rose I was dead, and she was all yours."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Cal said icily. "I did everything I could to find you, short of sending her out after you. She was in no state for that. You don't know how deeply your disappearance affected her. She was _shattered_. I was afraid of what she'd do, afraid she'd hurt herself. How dare you accuse me of causing that!" he hissed. "Of causing her that kind of pain. I took care of her. I helped her put herself back together."

"And I'm sure you couldn't wait to marry her," Jack said. "How'd you talk her into it?"

Cal's eyes narrowed. "She didn't need much convincing, not after being disappointed by you twice."

Jack glared at him. "You'd like me to believe that."

"You're in no condition to see her, if that's what you want," Cal said. "Rose deserved better than what you've become." His words hit Jack like a slap. He was right. Hadn't he thought the same thing?

"I want to see her," Jack said.

"Is that what you were doing outside our house?"

"You can't keep me away," Jack said. "I followed you here. I found you. I'll do it again if I have to."

"Don't underestimate what _I_ can do," Cal said softly. "Why don't you leave Rose alone? She was a new life. She's happy. Why ruin that?" he asked. "Why force her to choose? You'll disrupt everything just so you can have what you want?"

"You expect me to believe she'd rather be with you?" Jack scoffed. "You're a second choice, at best. She needed someone, and you were there. That's all. You took advantage of her feelings."

"Is that what I should think tonight when I'm the one in bed with her?" Cal asked. Jack paled. "Leave them alone," Cal said. "I'm not asking."

"Not even you can keep me here forever," Jack said.

…..

Cal felt a pang of guilt when Rose put her arms around him. She kissed his neck. "You're cold," she said, concerned.

"It's nothing," he replied. He looked down into her eyes. She was so open, so trusting. She would never have guessed what transpired that afternoon. She would never know, unless he told her, and Cal had already resolved never to tell her. So what if Jack was still alive? He'd come back once before, and it had only broken Rose's heart all over again. Why take the risk? Why let her be hurt?

Of course, there was also the question of himself. Why put himself through that? Why dismantle his family for a man he despised? A man who wasn't worthy of them?

Cal tried to put the matter out of his mind, but it kept coming back. He found himself watching Rose and wondering what she was thinking. Did she secretly still wish for Jack?

….

Jack, meanwhile, fumed in his cell. He couldn't eat. His hands shook violently. His mouth was dry. He would've given anything for a drink. He stunk of sweat and alcohol. By the third day, he couldn't stand himself anymore. But by the seventh it was easier. He was filthy, but his body was slowly returning to normal. His hands were steady. He requested a shower. Once he was clean, he ate the lunch the guard brought, not caring how bland it was.

He still wanted a drink, but he no longer felt like he needed it. Instead, what he needed was a way out. Now that his head was clearing, Jack wondered how he could have fallen so far. What was he thinking? He didn't give up. If Rose was happy, fine. He'd leave and never bother he again. But _she_ had to tell him that.

…

Cal's mind hummed constantly, questions and half-formed plans vying for attention. He couldn't take it any longer. In the two weeks since his encounter with Jack his guilt had grown steadily, and now everything that once made him happy just made him feel worse. When he played with the baby he thought of Jack, who didn't even know he had a child. When he kissed Rose, he remembered she wasn't really his wife. They were bound together by a tragic mistake. If she had the chance to change it, would she? The question haunted him.

Cal considered leaving. He could make up a story about having to return to America or even Europe, something about business or his family, and the three of them could vanish again. Even if Jack were released, he'd never find them again. And if he chose, Jack might never be released.

But that wouldn't solve anything. He'd still wonder if, given the opportunity, she'd go back.

Rose curled up next to him on the sofa. Cal put an arm around her, but otherwise, he barely acknowledged her presence. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"You've been distant lately," she said.

"Have I?"

"Cal, you know you have. Why?" She raised herself up. "Is it me? Did I do something?"

"No, of course not," Cal said reassuringly.

"Then would you mind telling me what it is?"

"Rose…." The words stuck in his throat. "Rose, if you could be with Jack again, would you?"

"What?" Her brow furrowed. "Why would you ask me that?"

"You don't have to answer," he said. "I'm sorry." He stood up. "I….Excuse me."

…

Jack was released the next morning, much to his surprise. He was given a note with an address and time, along with instructions to be there that day. He knew instinctively it had been written by Cal. Was this some sort of trick?

…

"Cal, about what you said yesterday-"

"I'm sorry if I upset you," he said. "I shouldn't have. Forgive me, Rose."

"Of course," she said. "I just…." There was a strange look in his eyes; she couldn't read it. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us? It was your idea."

"I'll meet you there. I have a few things to do first."

"Alright," she said reluctantly.

Cal took her in his arms. He cupped her face with one hand. "I love you, Rose," he said. "Please remember that. There's nothing I wouldn't do to make you happy."

"Cal, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said. He kissed her slowly, memorizing the way she felt. This might be the last time he came this close to her. He already said his good-byes to Louisa earlier that morning, but he kissed her again anyway. "Good-bye, Little One."

….

Jack arrived first. He was surprised to find himself at an art museum. It only increased his suspicions. He lingered near the entrance, studying the paintings in spite of himself.

And then _she_ came in.

Rose didn't notice him at first. She was pushing Louisa in the stroller. She bent down to check on her, and when she stood up again, there he was. Staring at her, open-mouthed. Rose put a hand to her lips. Her first thought was that he was some kind of hallucination. She glanced down at Louisa, afraid something had happened to her. She was fine.

"Rose?" Jack moved toward her tentatively. He held out his hands. Rose shook her head. "It can't be you," she said.

"You said that before, at the party, remember?"

"That was _you_?" she gasped. "I thought-I thought I imagined that part."

"It was me. I've been trying to find you for months, ever since I woke up." His gaze fell on the baby. He took in her blonde hair and blue eyes. She obviously wasn't Cal's child. Jack knelt down, overwhelmed by her. "She…." He looked up at Rose. "She's ours."

There were tears in Rose's eyes. "You were dead," she whispered, shaking her head. "You were gone."

"No." Jack pulled her into his arms. "Just lost. But not anymore.

…

 _1947_

 _Adelaide_

It was the city of her birth, but she didn't remember it at all. If not for the inheritance, she might never have returned. Though, really, it couldn't have come at a better time. She couldn't face the ruin Europe had become. The old neighborhood in Paris where she grew up might as well be gone; nothing remained from the past. Those who were left had been devastated by war. The village they visited each summer stood empty now. Her school had been destroyed. Her entire childhood had been destroyed by the Occupation. Her parents returned to America when it began. She went along. They got out just before the invasion. They were among the last to leave officially and of their own accord.

Louisa hated America. It was too new. Too bright and sterile. Her accent was a muddle of French and American, and she received pitying and suspicious looks everywhere she went, depending on whether she was mistaken for a German or a refugee. Technically, she _was_ a refugee, but her comfortable financial status made that easy to forget.

She joined the WACs and returned to Europe as soon as she could, despite her parent's objections. She wasn't on the Front, but she was close enough. At least she was of some use. She always told herself she'd take part if ever war broke out again. Her uncle's tales of the Great War had left quite an impression.

Louisa blinked back tears. She still couldn't believe he was dead. He never seemed old, though he was at least ten years older than her father. Now, she supposed, she'd start worrying about him. He was as healthy as ever and looked wonderful for his age, but then again, Cal had been the same way. At least, she'd thought he was.

They barely saw one another after the War began. He made one trip to America, to finalize a series of government contracts. Louisa didn't know exactly what he did; he seemed to have a hand in everything. She also didn't know exactly how they were related, though she assumed he was an uncle or cousin on her mother's side. He'd always been there, as far back as she could remember. She spent every summer with him and the occasional school holiday, but neither of her parents spoke much about him. Only her mother spoke to him. Her father always found some reason not to be there.

Louisa suspected he paid her school fees, but it was never confirmed. When she reached 21, she was given access to a sizable trust fund, which she assumed he set up. Rose refused to answer her questions about it, saying only, "Now you can do as you like. Be glad for that."

And now he was gone. The Old World, the world he shared with her parents, was gone as well. There was so many things Louisa didn't know, so many questions she intended to ask when she saw him again. She'd tried, before, but he always distracted her, deftly sidestepping her inquiries. The War made her determined to learn the truth.

But that was impossible now.

Cal's lawyers gave her documents and keys. Explained just what a vast empire she now controlled. So much money. She knew he was rich, but she never expected this. "And also, he asked us to give you this," Fred, the head lawyer said, handing her a locked box.

One of her new keys opened it. Inside, Louisa found an envelope, with Cal's pet name for her, written in shaky writing. She traced the letters, _Little One_ , hearing his voice. The envelope was thick. Beneath was a series of framed photographs and a small box with a strand of pearls. Her heart beat faster.

Finally, the past would be explained.

The End

 **AN: I struggled with the ending of this story for a long time, pretty much since the beginning. Part of me wanted Rose to stay with Cal, for Jack to slip away without ever speaking to her. I thought about letting years pass before they met again, letting Rose and Cal have a child of their own to complicate things even further. At one point I wanted the three of them to create some kind of polyamorous relationship—which is an idea I still love, but it wouldn't have worked. I knew I wanted to end with Louisa as soon as I wrote her in. It just made sense that way, to skip the reunion scenes and Rose leaving, and get right to the secrets being unveiled, ending just as a new story is beginning. I hope you enjoyed this story! I'm going to miss it.**


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